


Isle of Beasts

by windingwarpath



Series: Death's Favored Daughter [3]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Between Baldur's Gate 1 and 2, F/M, Horror, Isle of Balduran, Romance, Sexual Content, Werewolf Island, Werewolves, shipwrecked, swashbuckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwarpath/pseuds/windingwarpath
Summary: Nearly drowned, marooned, infected with lycanthropy, and separated from her friends by a werewolf infested forest. Yeah. That seemed like the usual sort of beginning to one of Ashura’s adventures.A Werewolf Island story, and an interquel between Baldur's Gate 1 (and my longfic 'Death's Favored Daughter') and Baldur's Gate 2.





	1. Storm Tossed

**Author's Note:**

> This story revolves around the Isle of Balduran from Tales of the Sword Coast (with some twists and alterations, of course) and takes place in the interim between my Baldur’s Gate 1 fic, Death’s Favored Daughter, and the events of Shadows of Amn (although you don’t need to read Death’s Favored Daughter to follow what’s going on.) I’ve been fiddling around with the idea of writing a BG2 fic, but this short interquel just jumped out and demanded to be written first.
> 
> Rated M for everything you might expect in a story about werewolves: violence, gore, and wardrobe malfunctions. There is also cursing, general raunchiness, and implied sex. Hope that’s a fair warning.

_"Once you're lost  
In twilight's blue  
You don't find your way  
The way finds you"  
_-Queens of the Stone Age, _Someone's in the Wolf_

 

* * *

A doomed sea voyage. How had she not seen _that_ one coming? She had, after all, helped slaughter most of the priesthood in Umberlee's own temple. Hells, she had personally opened the throat of the high priestess, up on the ramp over the temple's pool.

She hadn't thought much about the incident since then; the high priestess had struck first, after all, and Ashura and her companions had fought back in kind. But Umberlee wasn't the sort of goddess to care about fair fights, or who had backstabbed who first. Ashura should have realized that, once they were out in Umberlee's own domain on the open seas, the Bitch Queen herself would come seeking revenge.

Three days into the voyage from Ulgoth's Beard to Athkatla, when a raiding party of fish-men came swarming up the side of the ship and had to be repelled, Ashura had remembered the incident in the Water Queen's House. Same thing the next day, when they had to fight off more Sahuagin. She was reminded again eight days later, when they had to fend off a ship full of Nelanther pirates, and then three days after that, when the ship spent forty straight hours becalmed, the crew muttering all the while about the captain and his 'damned detour,' a feeling of mutiny in the air. Eventually a little tepid wind came blowing through, but whispers that the Bitch Queen was displeased and that the captain was a fool persisted.

So, on the nineteenth day of the voyage, when Ashura awakened to shouting up on the deck and winds whistling past the cabin's window, she wasn't particularly surprised. It seemed to still be midafternoon, but the skies outside had darkened and taken on a strange cast, and the ship was pitching more than usual, shaking her in her hammock.

A storm had arrived, it seemed. Umberlee was done with the foreplay.

Rolling out of her hammock and shaking off sleep, Ashura found her boots and her gloves. Shar-Teel was up and armored already, and Edwin stood beside her, arms crossed and wide awake. In the opposite hammock lay a purple lump: Alora, still fast asleep. No surprise there. The halfling could probably sleep through anything.

Boots and gloves now laced into place, Ashura grabbed her swordbelt and started out through the hold, every step a fight against the pitch and roll of the ship.

"A storm," Edwin muttered behind her, stating the obvious. The roll of the deck had him bracing his hands against the walls as he went, each shift threatening to batter him.

Up top, the seas churned and much of the sky had gone black. Sails snapped, the winds alternated between a whistle and a roar, and over it all came the frantic shouts of the sailors.

Louder still was the bitter argument up on the castle deck, between Captain Kieres and one of the ship's passengers. They stood face-to-face, the captain red-faced and roaring, while the other man –Mendas the scholar– stood firm. The scholar had his hand planted on the ship's wheel, for some reason, and Baresh, his assistant, stood behind him. Both were big, imposing men, despite wearing robes in the style of Oghmanyte scribes. That had always bothered Ashura a bit. Reminded her of Koveras.

The captain was trying to turn the wheel, but Mendas had a firm grip. "This is direction!" he shouted. "Direction we agreed upon! Island spotted on horizon! And payment is made!"

"You can bloody take it back!" Captain Kieres roared. "All of it! The deal's off! We're not barreling into a damned storm!"

 _Well that's not good._ Ashura shouldered her way past a pair of sailors who were struggling with the mid-mast, approaching the steps that let up to the higher deck. Her hand clutched her longsword's hilt.

"No!" Mendas went on. "Too long have I waited! Too much delay! My people will have this ship-home, even if we must repair after storm!"

"What are you even talking…oh bloody Hells." The captain released the wheel and stepped back, reaching for his sword instead. One of his crewmates had edged his way in behind Baresh, and following the captain's cue the man drew a blade of his own. "This isn't even about Balduran's treasure, is it? That's just a tale you spun!"

Edwin and Ashura shared a look, his eyes seeming to say: _'Well, get on with the stabbing, would you? Before this fool steers us fully into the storm!'_ She was inclined to agree.

Ashura's longsword slipped out ahead of her as she mounted the steps, frost smoking off its edge. Both of the scholars were unarmed, and about to be surrounded on three sides. Maybe they'd just surrender, and if not, well it would be easy to-

There was a great ripping sound, and the forms of Mendas and his assistant blurred, then seemed to _burst_. Fabric tore, flying away in frayed strips, and for a blink Ashura thought the pair of men had _exploded_. She backed up against the railing, sword-arm raised to protect her face from flying chunks of flesh or bone.

But no, that wasn't an explosion – instead they were _expanding_ ; blurring into forms that were dark, shaggy, and immense. A meaty arm shot out from the place where Mendas had been, claws wrenching the captain's shoulder and digging in deep, eliciting a scream of shock and pain. At the same time the creature that had been Baresh whirled and tackled the sailor behind him.

Beneath Ashura's feet the deck pitched and juddered, the ship sliding down some monstrous wave. Her back pressed against the castle deck's railing, and she braced herself with her sword's pommel, struggling to unsheathe her offhand blade and straighten up.

A great flash of lightning lit the sky, throwing Ashura's shadow across the deck and illuminating the creatures – curled tails, lanky arms, long muzzles, sharp ears, shining eyes and all. Umberlee was going all out, it seemed: not only had they hit a storm, but a mutiny as well, and on top of that the mutineers were-

"Werewolves," Edwin muttered, again stating the obvious. He was peaking over the top of the steps, near Ashura's feet.

One good glimpse in the bright white light, then the creatures were blurs of muscle, fur, and slashing teeth. The Baresh-thing shot up from the deck, lifting the sailor that it had attacked and hurling him through the air. Limp and spinning –with one arm now barely attached– the sailor flew past Ashura and grazed the top of Edwin's head. There was a curse in Mulhorandi, and a louder shout from Shar-Teel down below, along with the clink of her mail.

The Mendas-thing had gripped Captain Kieres by both shoulders, lifting him off the deck to clamp its jaws tight around his neck. Several fierce, sawing shakes followed the bite – until the captain's head came flopping loose and fell from his shoulders, striking the deck.

( _Werewolves._ Yeah. That was the name for these things. Maybe Montaron's old short sword –the offhand blade that Ashura now held– would come in handy. Garrick had once mentioned that the weapon's edge had been tempered alchemically with silver, making it [supposedly] good for slicing up devils, undead creatures, and lycanthropes.)

That all flashed through Ashura's mind as the captain's headless body was unceremoniously discarded and the deck began to pitch the other way, rising under her feet. Now it was time to test Garrick's guess.

She launched herself from the railing as uphill became downhill and the creatures both stumbled to remain upright. Gravity was on her side, for the moment. A leap and she closed on the Baresh-creature, longsword leading the way (silvered blade or no, she wasn't getting _too_ close if she could help it).

The beast whirled to meet her. A swipe of its paw sailed over her head. She bent in and lunged, momentum combining with a full-bodied stab to punch the blade square through the creature's exposed belly. With a high, ear-splitting yelp and the scuffing of boots and claws, they both went tumbling aft – striking the rails.

They tangled together. She elbowed the beast, pushing away. The ship pitched again and they both went rolling across the deck. The back of her head smacked the floorboards and light flashed (maybe lightning, maybe a head wound, hard to tell…) before her eyes. There was a rising roar, right by her ear. A tearing at her side. She strained and struggled. Still had the beast impaled, so she tried to drag her longsword _up_ and open the damn thing's guts some more.

The fury body shifted, and she was tugged along. Now she was upright, on her knees. Slather splashed her face and jaws snapped close. The beast reared back, but that gave her enough space to swing her free arm _up._ Her short sword caught the creature under its muzzle, stabbing through jaw and tongue and palate and brain.

_There!_

Again the deck rolled, and she went stumbling against the beast's chest. Its back struck the rails, flailing and clawing. Wood groaned – then snapped, and the beast's head and shoulders flopped out over the raging waters. Ashura's longsword dug into the deck, keeping them stable as the creature's struggles became an uncontrolled shiver. That didn't last long. The creature slackened and shrank; wavering as its fur receded and was replaced by pale flesh.

Ashura shot to her feet and yanked her blades free, turning quick as she could. The other beast was still alive and roaring, but thankfully it seemed to be enmeshed in sticky ropes that had tangled up its arms and legs and pressed it to the far railing. One of Edwin's webbing spells, it looked like. There were singe-marks in the creature's fur as well, and the red wizard had backed up into a far corner of the castle deck, firelight dimming at his fingertips.

With another roar the beast ripped the strands away from one of its arms. That webbing wouldn't last long. As Ashura advanced, the creature tore another arm free, rocking forward on the balls of its feet. This beast —Mendas— seemed quite a bit larger than the other one had been. Taller. Thicker. Less lanky.

It (well… _he_. It was _quite_ apparent from this angle that the werewolf was a he) bent forward, legs straining against the last thread of webbing. Its jaws split wide, head tilting for another great, guttural roar.

Side-stance, Ashura pointed her short sword at the creature's eye and slipped in closer. Her blade zig-zagged, feinting, and then stabbing in, but a paw-swipe batted it aside.

Wood groaned, the railing strained, and then there was a snapping sound as more of Edwin's webbing broke. Claws whistled past Ashura's head and she twisted and lunged in for the creature's left side. Her longsword sliced, but reverberated off the wolf-thing's hide, as if it had struck steel. A backhanded blow sent her staggering.

The beast shrugged its way fully free of the webbing, muscles coiled. Its teeth and gums were bared; blood-smeared ivory.

There was a glint of steel and motion at the werewolf's side. Shar-Teel's sword flashed in and struck the creature's ribs, a full-bodied blow that drew a shallow cut. The beast ignored her, and the wound, lunging for Ashura instead.

She leapt aside – or tried to. The beast pivoted, followed, and a wall of black fur and fury struck her. Pain flared –bones jarring– and they fell together. The creature's weight crushed her to the deck. Something bright seemed to streak before her face ( _lightning? Claws?_ ), and a hot pain flared across her cheek.

Ashura was snarling in frustration, but that was drowned out by the howl right beside her ear. The damned thing reared up to clamp its jaws on her neck, and the image of the Captain Kieras' severed, tumbling head flashed before her.

Frustration became fury. Her blood caught fire; surging and raging. The jaws snapped on emptiness as she twisted onto her side and pressed her fists and the crossguard of her longsword against the monster's belly, and then she _threw_ the beast off.

Bulky and flailing, the werewolf hit the rolling deck and slid along to strike the railing as Ashura shot to her feet. She locked eyes with the wolf, and there she saw a faint, golden reflection. Her eyes were burning. Mendas' rage had given way to confusion.

 _Good! See that?! You're not the only beast here!_ Her veins were on fire; muscles taut and giddy. The surge of divine strength would be brief –she knew– but for now it was invigorating. She advanced.

Wary now, the wolf-thing pressed its paws to the deck and righted itself, baring its teeth to issue a low growl. Shar-Teel was threading her way in nearby, trying to flank the beast. Fat raindrops splattered the deck, blown near-horizontal by the howling winds.

Shar-Teel lunged in and slashed, but —without even looking— the wolf-thing caught her sword, gripped it like it was a stick, and shoved her back, leaping for Ashura once again.

And now it was looming before her in midair, and there was nothing to do but react. To lean in. To duck low. To slash and try to open the creature's gut. The longblade reverberated off ribs; barely nicked the wolf's hide – then the creature had her sword-arm in its crushing grip. The wolf tried to wrench her arm from its socket – snarling and yanking. Its other claw rose before her, and Ashura's shortblade shot up to meet it, stabbing through the palm.

The paw flew back. She tried another stab but a meaty forearm struck hers. She grunted and she growled. Her arm slammed back; grappling, pushing, matching its strength with hers (for the moment.)

The wolf wriggled, and one of his paws dug into her back, gripping her in a fumbled bear-hug. The other paw yanked again at her arm, and her longsword was wrenched away, clattering to the deck. She shook. Her offhand blade shifted to an underhand grip. If she could find a good angle to stab...

Jaws came clamping down, teeth burying deep into Ashura's shoulder, but before the beast could shake and worry the wound her left hand lifted and then came down, burying her shortblade in the side of the beast's neck. Hot blood pumped against her hand and the hilt of the sword. There was blood everywhere, really – hard to tell how much was hers and how much was the wolf's. She fought for breath, her shoulder screaming as teeth pulled and flesh tore, and then they both went tumbling.

The beast fell back and struck the railing, overbalanced, and together they went over. The raging sea rushed up to meet them.

 

* * *

Ice cold waters, churning all around. Then she was on fire. Sweating. Drowning in sweat and smothered by fur. (The beast? No. This was different.)

Then all was ice again. Violent tremors shook her. At some point the waters receded. At some point (–points. It all kept shifting…) she felt as if she were somewhere soft, held and cradled by another warm body. Other times she shivered alone in the void.

She drifted in and out of time, finding herself in different places; strange vistas that flowed one after the other. Different places, and each time she was something different as well.

 **Now** she was a man, light as a shadow; dancing upon the rooftops of an ancient city of mudbrick and limestone. Tonight four princes would die by her hand, and the course of the city would be forever changed.

In through a balcony, she (he -- the shadow-man) shouldered past silk curtains and crept up to an overstuffed bed were a corpulent man slept, a woman at each side. No hesitation and all fluid motion, her dagger found the prince's heart and her hand smothered his cries of shock at the same time. She had turned and fled from the bedroom before the concubines even stirred, racing across the balcony and on to the next target.

The wind rustled her hair as she ran and leapt from the rails, dropping - dropping - dropping towards the street, night-air rushing by to buffet her face…

…and now that face was covered in fur. **Now** she was a beast.

Her paws struck the floor of a forest; the street long gone. She leapt and she raced. Leaves and branches whipped by; the night dark as pitch, yet every detail somehow shining before her. The scent of her prey was pungent, driving her on.

She twisted past a tree, and now she saw him, his arms pumping and bare feet slipping on the moss and the mud. The man stank of terror, each breath coming out in choked gasps.

He ran. She gained on him. Soon the man's hot blood would fill her throat, and his flesh would feed her cubs. She braced for the final leap and…

…and now the **her** that was the shadow-light man stood before the **her** that was a shaggy beast. The man reached out, as if to pat the creature (a she-wolf) on the head, and the wolf responded with a low, wary growl. The man grinned at that, his smile all teeth. It was the grin of a skull.

Then the man and the beast were gone. **Now** she was a raven, with black wings that shrouded the world. Her claws dangled above the passing earth, scythe-like and stretching out to reap. From her razor-beak she cawed, and the heavens echoed and shook. Eventually she sailed into another place and time.

It went on and on. She drifted and she shifted, flying or racing or leaping through the fever dreams. Wherever she went it was always night. The darkness churned…

 

* * *

…then, at some point, light began to filter through. Her tremors subsided. She found herself cocooned in warmth, beneath a soft fur blanket. With some effort, Ashura opened her bleary eyes. She blinked several times – blinked herself awake.

There was a blurry form beside her; a person. Its face resolved into that of a sleeping woman, sharing the blanket but on the other side of the…bed? A little more blinking and inspection, and she found that they were both on the floor, laying on separate, stuffed matrices that had been pushed together. The walls were made of some sort of wood, woven in a basket-pattern, and above them the roof was thatched straw.

Shifting to take it all in, Ashura winced. Her shoulder was sore — Hells, everything was sore. She remembered the teeth digging in, and the plunge to the ocean; saltwater stinging her wounds as she fought the waves and tried to keep her sword and swim at the same time.

There were bandages wrapped tightly around her shoulder now. Otherwise she seemed to be naked. Her eyes stung, her head ached, and her throat was parched. "Where-?" she croaked, pushing the blanked aside and trying to sit up. "What's going on?"

The strange woman stirred and rolled over, rubbing her eyes. Her skin was lightly tanned and her hair was a frazzled, brown rat's nest. She looked to be rather young; twentyish, perhaps. Around Ashura's age. "You awaken?" the woman asked in Chondathan, her accent odd. "And soon. So soon." Sitting up, the stranger reached out, pressing the back of her hand to Ashura's forehead. "Hm. No fever. Is strange. We think you would sleep all the day, at least."

"Uh…"

The woman shook herself. "Apologies. You are frightened. Is strange place."

"Eh. Not the first time…" Her words came out in a croak, and then she coughed. "Not the first time," she repeated, clearer now, "that I've woken up in a strange bed, feeling like shit and wearing nothing but bandages."

The woman gave her a puzzled look, then leaned in and –for some odd reason– sniffed a few times. "Hm. Of hearty blood, you are. You smell familiar, and yet strange."

"Uh…" Ashura repeated, but now the woman was turning away and scooting to the edge of her cot, reaching for something on the floor. Her back was a latticework of scars, but Ashura only got a quick glimpse before some sort of garment slipped over the woman's head and covered them up. There had been raised marks across the woman's chest as well, and an abstract tattoo at her collarbone. The garment looked like something between a tunic and a dress, gray and roughspun.

"Is too early for her rising," a man's voice came from behind some sort of woven grass partition. He sounded a bit sleepy. "She needs lie back down. Rest the morning."

"I'm okay," Ashura objected. Not exactly true, but she hardly felt like going back to bed with all the questions that were starting to race through her head. Where was she exactly? Who were these people? What had happened to her things? (Her enchanted boots, especially.) And what had happened to the ship? The crew? Her friends? "I just need some water."

"Hm," the man said. "I will fetch. And heat the broth. But take things easy." His next words were in a different language, obviously directed at the strange woman rather than Ashura. " _Eius interrogari debet sar_."

" _Ita frater_ ," the woman agreed.

Ashura's eyebrows rose. Those were words that she recognized: old Thorass, mixed with an Iluskan word or two.

The strange woman knelt, reaching for Ashura's bandages. "I check and clean wounds," she said, switching back to her stilted Chondathan. "Yes?"

"Sure." Ashura scooted to face the stranger fully. "Thank you for…tending to me? Guess you found me in the ocean?"

"Yes. We go to check damage in the night, after storm passes. Solianna finds you on shore, cold from water and torn at shoulder and face." The woman tapped her own chest. The tattoo was on prominent display there, above the neckline of her dress: a sort of stylized pattern in bright blue and ochre-red. "I am Delainy." She gestured towards the grass curtain. "My brother is Durlyle. We apprentice under clan's wise woman…once. Know of healing."

"Ashura Adrian." A curt nod. "Nice to meet you."

As she pulled the last of the bandages away from Ashura's shoulder, Delainy's eyes widened, and she stifled a gasp. "Is not right. Wounds sealed clean. Hm. I treated with goldroot salve and blessings of the Hunter, but still…" She shook her head. "And there is no sickness. You chilled from time in sea, so I warm you through night and expecting sickness in morning. But you...strong, like you have beast-blood in you. Curious."

Ashura tried not to cringe. Beastly blood – _yeah_ – that was one way of putting it. Hopefully the woman would not pry. And _hopefully_ Edwin wouldn't hear about that _'…I warm you through night…'_ thing. He'd get ideas.

"Brother?" Delainy asked, turning. "The water?"

An arm appeared from behind the curtain, holding out a clay jug, then disappeared once Delainy had taken it and handed it to Ashura. She took several long, greedy gulps. Eventually Delainy made her slow and pulled the jug away. "Careful now." Then, using a cloth, the healer dabbed water onto the bite-marks at Ashura's shoulder. The area was splotched with raw red and bruised purple, but each puncture did indeed seem to have sealed.

"Your clothing hangs here," the man behind the partition said. "Still damp. We care for it."

"My boots..?" _Ugh_. If she had lost those to the sea…

"There are footwraps we found on you, yes."

 _Thank Tymora._ "Good. And the sword-belt?" She had a vague memory of locking her short sword into its scabbard as she struggled in the waters. With her longsword dropped on the ship's deck and her armor left back in the cabin, she hoped that she had at least kept the one blade.

"Oh yes," Delainy said. "Sword has all in clan talking. With moon-metal edge."

"A sign, some think," Durlyle added from behind the curtain. "I am uncertain. But in any case, sword and belt are here."

"Thanks again," Ashura said. "Where are we exactly?"

"Island home," replied Delainy. She had finished applying some sort of greasy salve to the injuries, and now she wound a fresh bandage under Ashura's arm. "Is not large. And…outsiders rare to see. Some distrust them. But they can be good omen! Thirteen seasons back, Taloun washes up. He teaches us many new outside ways; fishing and farming."

The bandages now tied into place, Delainy opened a nearby wicker basket and dug through, pulling out some sort of garment. Looked like another plain, short dress. "Here. You wear until your clothing dries."

"Thanks." Raising her arms, Ashura slipped into the dress, then stood, straightening the fabric and trying not to wobble on her sore legs.

"You still need rest," Delainy observed.

"Yeah, maybe." Ashura sat back down on top of the blanket. There were still nagging questions, though.

The partition rustled, and the other occupant of the hut finally appeared, a wide clay pot between his hands. Again, Ashura's brows rose a bit.

The young man who approached was dressed in just a simple loincloth, impressively lithe and muscled, with the same shaggy brown hair as his sister, worn long. His face was sharp, eyes observant, and like his sister he seemed to bear many scars. Each looked like a set of claw marks, crisscrossing his chest, his (nicely taut) abdomen, and the upper portion of one of his thighs; white streaks of upraised skin, cutting through the faint trails of his body hair. There was also a blue and red tattoo stamped upon his upper chest, identical to his sister's.

Kneeling, Durlyle titled the pot towards her. "Bone and vegetable broth. Will return your strength."

"Thanks." There appeared to be no utensils, so she took the bowl and sipped. Durlyle sat down across from her, cross-legged, and after drinking a bit of the warm, tasteless liquid, Ashura asked her next question. "So, were there others like me? Last night? Washed up on the shore?"

The siblings glanced at each other, faces tightening. "A few found, yes," Durlyle stated, his tone now cautious. "But…others were drowned. I am sorry."

"Ah." Her stomach clenched, and she looked down at the bowl, pondering it for a time. "Well, I want to see the dead. When I can." She definitely couldn't lay back and rest now. One way or the other, she had to know what had happened to her companions. To her friends.

 

* * *

The pair of battered rowboats, propped up on the beach with broken oars, made for _the_ most pathetic excuse for a shelter that Edwin Odesseiron had ever seen, let alone been forced to huddle beneath. He glowered out into the dim light and the foggy woods, cross-legged, with a longsword laid out across his lap. He chafed from salt and sand (and impatience), biding the miserable minutes away as they waited for the rain to abate. It had just become misting patter now, at least.

In addition to Edwin, seven others shared the improvised lean-to. Five of those seven were women –cold, shivering, and huddling close for warmth– and that fact _should_ have hung a silver lining on this _abysmal_ situation.

Not so! There were no nubile wenches to be comforted here. Rather, Edwin found himself sandwiched between the pigtailed ogress herself —who had snarled and shot him murderous looks the handful of times he had accidentally brushed her shoulder — and a rat-faced woman-sailor with matted hair, who smelled as if the closest she had come to a bath in months had been their recent ride through briny storm-winds.

While Shar-Teel bristled at the possibility of physical contact, Rat-Face showed no such misgivings (unfortunately!) The rodent clung to Edwin's hooded cloak and robes, constantly sniffling and snorting, heedless of the snot that no doubt flowed dangerously close to the expensive fabric. _The instant_ that he was able to crawl out of the shelter he would simply _have_ to cast a cleaning cantrip on his robes (he had been planning to anyway, but still…) This whole 'crew' of grubby sailors could use a thorough cleansing as well. Preferably with fire.

In addition to the sniffling and the shivering, the occasional snore sounded just behind him. That was where the irritating halfling girl had curled up into a tiny ball, deep beneath the lean-to where only she could fit. The imp-girl's round, pudgy face was as serene as ever, and the position she had found reminded Edwin somehow of the yippy little dogs that his aunts back in Thay were fond of fussing over. Edwin _almost_ envied her complete immunity to discomfort, though it doubtless came from her head being too empty to comprehend the mess they were in. Ignorance is bliss, and all of that.

Eh. At least he was not in as miserable straights as the shivering simpletons around him. Thanks to the wards inscribed into Edwin's tattoos he felt no ill effects from mundane heat or cold. He could stroll through a snow storm or over a sunbaked desert in as much comfort as he would in the climate-controlled halls of the estates at Surthay. It was a point of pride that he had chosen such practical tattoos, useful more days than not (especially in these barbarous lands). Now, if only he could ward himself against saltwater-chafe and foul odors-

"Rain's let up," Shar-Teel grunted, shifting beside him.

"Hm. So it has." Looking down at his lap, Edwin frowned at the sword. Varscona was its name: a fine weapon, with golden trim at the hilt and crossguard, along with a ruby that supposedly housed the spirit of a bitter Sharan priestess. If one looked at the weapon through magically-enhanced eyes –as Edwin once had– they would see the waves of cold hatred that radiated out from that ruby, powering the blade. Slipping his hands beneath the weapon, Edwin lifted it. "Your sword, if you wish."

"I'm not touching that damn thing," Shar-Teel said with a shake of her head.

"Hm. Your choice." Foolish sentimentality. Apparently the sword had once been used to kill one of the big wench's friends.

Careful not to cut himself, Edwin turned the sword around and slid it into the extra-dimensional space within a tiny pouch at his belt. At the least, he could sell the sword when they reached civilization. A shame about its owner, though. It seemed such a waste, although…would the Lord of Murder truly let one of his Children die from something as mundane as drowning? Was not murder (especially between his Children) the entire point?

(Bah! He was being hopeful and sentimental. Still, the notion persisted...)

Wriggling out from beneath the shelter, Edwin stood and stretched, followed by Shar-Teel. As soon as he could, he intoned a spell, sending a cleansing shimmer up from the hem of his robes all the way to the collar. _Ah_. Much better.

"Finally," Shar-Teel snarled, glaring at him. "Was getting sick of sharing the same stale air with you." Standing straight, they were roughly the same height.

"A feeling more than mutual, you unwashed, gibbering ogress." For emphasis (and just in case she thought to take a swat at him) Edwin swiveled and put some distance between them, examining the beach that they had washed up upon. A very narrow spit of sand, and beyond it towered great trees, their wide canopies woven together by thick green leaves that shaded the slimy, moss-covered earth. An ancient, temperate forest, it seemed, similar to the echoing woods of Rashemen. No doubt there would be irritating spirits to deal with here as well; dryads or treants or pixies or whatnot.

Hands close to his pockets (and the spell components within), Edwin started forward. He had gone about four paces when he felt an impish presence, and looking down it came as no surprise that Alora was skipping along beside him. "That's a big, scary forest," the halfling stated, stupid and obvious.

"Bah. Just a collection of sticks and brambles. If we are to escape this miserable place, we must explore it." He started forward once again, but only made it two strides before a long, keening howl erupted from deep within the woods, stopping him in his tracks. The baying wolf was joined by another, and then another and another.

Scowling ahead, Edwin found himself pinching the components of one of his more potent fire spells, thoughts of setting the entire wood ablaze running through his mind. Sadly, it was a bit too wet for such a fire to catch.

_A big, scary forest indeed._


	2. Hounded

_"When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf."_ -Cormac McCarthy, _Blood Meridian_

 

* * *

Beyond the deer hide that hung in the doorway of the hut lay a narrow wooden porch, its steps leading down to well-tromped dirt. Walls of interlocked wood hemmed the building at two sides, and opposite them stretched the village. The sky was a dull gray, and mist hung in the air beyond the huts and the longhouses, which were all built on stilts, a few feet above the ground. Through the ebbing fog there were hints of more walls, a skeletal watchtower looming above it all.

Down on the dirt path, people milled about. Women bent over claw pots, a pair of men walked by carrying a net full of fish between them, and a clump of children knelt, weaving something out of long grass. They all looked a bit like Durlyle and Delainy, with an earthy tone to their skin and a narrow cast to their eyes, a bit like the people of Kara-Tur. These people didn't look entirely like easterners, though; some sported auburn or even blondish hair, all worn long.

And they were dressed in…well, not in much, despite the morning chill. Ashura had assumed that Durlyle would put something on over the underclothes he had been wearing in the hut, but all he had donned over the loincloth was a fur cloak and footwraps. The other men were dressed much the same: loincloths under cloaks, some of them made from fur or hide, and others from fiber-cloth. Some of the cloaks were conventional, but others covered the front of the body, slit to open at the sides.

The women all wore garments much like Ashura's and Delainy's: loose, plain dresses that left the arms and shoulders uncovered and came down to the knee. Man or woman, the collarbone was always bared, displaying blue and red tattoos. Every tattoo looked the same; a marker of membership in the clan, it seemed.

There was something else off about their appearance, which she couldn't quite put her finger on. In the tomes of Candlekeep she had seen many illustrations depicting tribal peoples, from Chult to the scattered forest elves to the Uthgardt of the Savage North. There was something different here. Something off. Something…missing.

No one approached as Ashura stepped down and surveyed the place, the siblings padding along behind her; all she got were wary looks. "So this place is..?" she asked, looking to the siblings. They just gave her blank stares. "Does the island have a name? Does the village?" If she had to guess, they were somewhere a bit west of the Nelanther Isles. Then again, she was no ship's navigator.

"It is…home," Durlyle offered. "Apologies. Island is small. There is no other village. Just here," he gestured. "And the wild." He waved to the north.

"Come." Delainy beckoned, leading the way down the dirt path and towards a storehouse.

The four dead sailors had been laid on a carpet of woven grass across the building's floor, blue lipped, ghost-pale, and dressed in torn and sodden clothes. Ashura recognized them, certainly: members of the _Harpsong's_ crew. It was a relief, however, that neither Edwin, Shar-Teel, nor Alora were among the corpses.

She smiled and nodded. "Huh. None of my friends here. Bet Edwin survived, at the least. He had all sorts of contingencies set up to protect himself from the sea." Or so he had bragged.

Durlyle gave her a curious look. "This Edwin. He is your mate?"

"Eh?" _Oh yeah_. That universal question all young men find an awkward way of asking. "No." Well, you could say that she had mat _ed_ with Edwin a few times ( _Ha! He'd hate to hear it put that way_ ), but she wasn't about to start fawning or asking to come home and meet his parents. And no reason to talk to these strangers about who she had or hadn't slept with on a whim. "He's an ally. A pretty useful one too," ( _if you can ignore the constant whining_ ). "A skilled conjurer."

In addition to the dead bodies, the room had two living occupants: a pair of middle aged women. They had sour looks on their faces, and one gestured at the siblings, speaking in their native tongue. " _Externus, si reliquero."_

The other woman nodded. " _Videatur nobis non metus kott."_

Delainy took Ashura by the arm and tugged. "Come. They need prepare the bodies."

Nodding, Ashura let herself be led, trying to keep her face blank. _'Prepare'_ was not quite the proper translation, as she understood it. _'Metus'_ was an old Thorassi word for _'cutting,'_ and _'kott'_ was the Illuskan word for ' _meat_.' _So this might be an island of cannibals? Lovely._

"So what now?" Ashura asked, glancing around, once they were outside.

"We meet with the Gan," Delainy answered. She fumbled for the proper words. "The…she is mother to clan."

"The headwoman?"

"Yes. She will decide what is to be done with you."

"That sounds a bit ominous."

"What?" Delainy gave her a curious look, then shook her head. "Oh. No, you are our guest. We will not hurt. The Gan only decide how best to greet. She is kind. You will see."

They made their way through the walled-in space of the village, from one dirt path to the next. Ahead lay an open square, with a series of firepits. "So," Ashura asked as they went, "you two are the village healers?"

"Could be saying that, yes," Durlyle replied. "My sister is more healer than I." He patted Delainy's shoulder. "We apprentice under wise woman, but I felt less of the…calling of the Great Hunter. And I know to spot the plants but…well…the doing with them…"

Delainy chuckled. "I make better medicine. He lacks the patience. But my brother took to the campfire and the stories, passed from great-grandmothers to ears of the pups. He gestures. Makes stories come to life." She shook her head. "I too shy for that."

"So, together, we fill the job. Ludil —the wise one— left a great cloak to fill, but we try."

"She died, I take it?" Ashura asked.

"Yes. Taken by the beasts beyond the wall. She fell defending Jorin and his hunting party. A sad night, four moons ago."

The headwoman, Kaishais Gan, was an intimidating figure: well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, with ice-blonde hair that had Ashura thinking of northern valkyries. Her voice, however, was surprisingly soft. "You are the stranger then," she asked by way of greeting, descending the steps from one of the longhouses. Big hands took hold of Ashura's shoulders, and then the woman leaned in to sniff at her hair. An awkward moment followed, Ashura just standing there, arms loose at her sides. _Sniff. Sniff. Sniff._

When she tilted back, Kashais' eyes probed Ashura's. "Strong blood in you. Power. Where did you receive it? From who?"

Ashura cocked her head. "Uh. From my father, I guess. He was…a power, you might say."

"Ah. So all your life. This is good. You learn control, like us."

"She is _not_ like us," a voice objected. A man was stepping down the longhouse steps. He was wiry and middle aged, and like everyone else Ashura had encountered, he turned his nose up towards her and sniffed. Was it some sort of shaman's power that these people had, sussing things out through scent? Or maybe she just stank really bad. She resisted the urge to lift an arm and check.

Turning to Kashais, the man continued to speak, now in their native tongue. " _Est fortis. Ita_ …" Meaning: "She is strong. Yes. But it runs wild in her. Like the beasts. The others. How do we know she is no spy? And that sword…"

"Hm," Kaishais grunted. She spoke to Ashura, in Chondatahn. "I would like to see sword."

"Sure." Ashura drew the shortblade from its sheath and held it up between them. The man recoiled, and the headwoman took a step back as well.

_"Quod si missus uti man metallblad nobis?!_ " the man hissed ("What if she was sent to use the moon-metal blade against us?!") _"Condemnabitus nobis, Kashais!"_ ("You endanger us, Kashais!")

Ashura rolled her eyes. _"Non autem impetum_ ," she snapped in old Thorassi. "See," she went on, still speaking their tongue, "I'm just holding it up. Happy to prove myself. Point me at one of these 'beasts' of yours, and I'll kill it. Give me a task and I'll do it. I'm not your enemy."

The man grew no less suspicious. "You speak our tongue?"

_Maybe revealing that was a mistake. Ah well._ "Apparently," she went on, still speaking Thorassi. She sheathed the sword. "You're speaking the old trade tongue of the Western Heartlands. Scholars still use it, and I grew up among scholars."

"Or you are a spy for the others."

Kashais shook her head. "This woman is foreign. Look at her seashell-skin. The round eyes. And they are a shade of blue we do not see. She is not belonging, to either clan." She faced Ashura fully. "But I say that she could be belonging."

"Uh…" Ashura raised a hand. "I was sailing for Amn. With my friends. If they're still out there…"

"Of course. Today, you are a guest. We shall see about the matter of belonging later, should it come to that." She pursed her lips in thought. "Though, you mentioned a task. In the clan, we all work our way, and there are tasks for this day. Perhaps…"

"Of course," she said. "Happy to help." She shot the wiry man a glare.

 

* * *

Everywhere, there were verdant green leaves and blooming flower-vines. The leaves dripped, the forest floor was soft and soggy, and their boots or bare feet (several of the sailors went that way) squelched through the mud. In the lead walked the big, brutish woman, followed by Edwin, then the sailors.

There was Raface, of course, walking just behind a tall, blonde man with impressively meaty arms. He had been the ship's boatswain (and now made a potentially decent meat-shield). Next came a spindly, Turmic woman with nut-brown skin and dreadlocks that were dyed in vivid reds, yellows, and blues, rather reminiscent of a tropical bird, along with a big Chultan man who had served as the ship's cook (a passable one, too), and a pudgy (though pleasantly buxom) woman with freckles and copper-red hair, who had served as one of the ship's mates. Ratface and the chubby one were both armed with knives, and the other sailors carried oars as improvised clubs.

Oh, and of course there was the halfling sprite, who skipped from the lead to the rear of the group and back again as they went, constantly pointing at colorful plants and exclaiming about their beauty. "For a thief," Edwin muttered down at her when she passed by, "you are _spectacularly_ loud."

Alora was nonplussed, just turning and giving him a huge, toothy smile. "A big part of thiefin' is making noise, silly! Distractions and misdirection! Everyone knows that!" She looked around. "Though, since we're playin' at rangerin' today, I guess being totally quiet _would_ be the thing to do. Like, if we were rangers, we'd be paddin' through here without making a sound, so as not to alert those doggies we heard earlier."

"An excellent idea. Why don't you play at rangering?"

She giggled. "Bet I can be quieter than youuu."

"I bet you cannot."

To Edwin's utter shock, the halfling girl shut her mouth, keeping pace beside him and going quiet as a cat. A little pointless, since the tromping of the five sailors was loud enough to alert the entire island to their presence, 'doggies' included, but it was a nice change.

A few minutes later, as they wound along the trail, Shar-Teel turned to look over her shoulder. "Edwin," she hissed. "I thought of something."

"A rare-"

"Stuff it." She talked over him. "You're always conjuring stuff up. Furniture and the like. Can't you just…conjure us a boat?"

He felt the eyes of all the simpletons shift to him. _Hrmph!_ Was this intentional? Was she trying to entrap him? Force him to admit an inadequacy? The big wench often proved more cunning than she looked, after all (the sort of low cunning that a she-gnoll who had bitten and provoked her way to the front of the pack might possess). His answer was measured. "The spells do not work that way."

"Then what good are you?"

Edwin glared. "What good? Why, I am the only hope you have of escaping this miserable rock. Simply conjuring a seaworthy ship from the ether is impossible —for reasons that your simple minds could never hope to grasp. **However** , if we can find the remains of our broken vessel, my arts can be used to fabricate any pieces needed to repair it. Within a few days, we might rebuild the ship, and sail away with this skeleton crew, supplemented by conjured elementals. So in a way, yes, I _can_ conjure a boat, and you would do well to stay on my good side while we work out the minor details, lest that boat leave you behind!"

Snorting, Shar-Teel turned away and muttered something. ("I'll believe it when I see it," sounded like.) Still, the threat seemed to _almost_ cow her. Pleasant how, sometimes, reminding the ungifted of what magic is truly capable of might (temporarily) humble them. Especially when you omit key details.

Also, best not to mention that he actually _had_ a spell that could whisk them off the island at any time. Well, some of them. The drawback to teleporting was that the spell did not have the power to take them all, and could only move them to locales that he was familiar with. Back on the coast, he had burned a _lot_ of bridges recently, and was in no mood to go backwards if he could help it. Better to head to Athkatla, if they still could, and with the Bhaalspawn girl, if she yet lived. Combination bodyguards and bedwarmers did not grow on trees, after all.

Up ahead, the foliage was thinning. The sun had begun to peak through the clouds and the canopy, throwing shafts of light down onto the mossy forest floor and what appeared to be some moldering ruin, propped up against a lichen-choked boulder. The remains of a…house? Some sort of structure at least, though only wooden pillars and a few crossbeams remained. Cautiously, they approached the clearing.

"Looks old," Shar-Teel muttered.

"A sign that there were people here," the boatswain said. "At least."

As they neared the ruin, other hints of habitation caught their eyes: piled up stones, an overgrown space that looked to have been dug out, and more pillars. Four of them were taller than the rest, spaced close. The remains of a watchtower, perhaps? Had this once been a fortification? The boulder was jagged, tall, and sharply vertical. A natural wall.

"We should check-" the pudgy ship's mate began, but she froze at a sound from the wood: baying — one dog's high and squeaky voice followed by a chorus. It was hard to count, but the voices from the pack were many: yips and snarls and howls and barks all increasing in frequency and volume. Next came the sound of crashing through the brush.

They all turned around. No sign of the pack yet; just vines and leaves and branches, but it seemed that the dogs were coming.

Shar-Teel was the first to act, spinning around and pointing to the ruins with her bladed gauntlet. "Get to that rock!" she shouted, then sprinted.

Seemed like a good idea. They ran through the clearing, stomping over flowers and tall weeds. The big boatswain slipped into the lead, taller and faster than even Shar-Teel, yet _somehow_ the halfling girl, whose head barely came up past the man's knee, managed to race right behind him. Alora had picked up a stick, for some reason. Looked like a rather pitiful weapon.

As they neared the first set of pillars, with the rock wall perhaps a dozen strides ahead, the halfling shouted: "Wa-wa-wait!" No one slowed, until she leapt ahead and hugged the boatswain's knees, forcing him to stumble. He managed to remain up right, the others slowing behind him, and then Alora untangled herself, hopped past, and smashed her stick down through the weeds and grass.

_Clack!_ The rusty jaws of a foot-trap burst out from the brush, clamping together. "Watch out!" Alora shouted. "There's some more, in the ruins."

"Well that's just great," Edwin groaned, whirling around. The yipping and barking had grown in pitch. Branches rattled and leaves shook. A shaggy body shot between the trees, keeping to the brush.

Edwin glared ahead. The first snout that peaked out would get a nose full of _fireball_. The words of the spell were on the tip of his tongue.

Another _clack_ sounded behind them. Alora was hopping forward through the grass, poking the traps one by one.

Up ahead the brush shook some more, and a figure finally emerged. Edwin took aim but…it was a woman, not a dog. Her bare arms flailed and her tattered skirts billowed as she flew down the path towards them, eyes wide with terror. "Helping me!" she screamed in broken Chondathan. "Helping me! Thou must!"

The big boatswain rushed up to meet her, his oar raised high to beat back any dogs. The barking and crashing continued, though it seemed to be spreading out. _Just one target_. _Give me one target._ Fire would ward the things off surer than any stick.

Another _clack._ "That's the last foot-biter…ack! Wait! One more!"

The running woman had crossed over to the ruins now, stumbling and dropping to her knees in front of the boatswain. She was dressed in a ragged gown whose colors had long ago bled out, leaves tangled in her messy brown hair. Barefoot too, with mud-streaked arms and a face contorted by fear; she was the very picture of a harried damsel, almost as if she had stepped out of a storybook.

_Clack!_ "Now _that's_ the last trap! For really-reals."

"It's alright," the boatswain was telling the woman, a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright." He looked over her head, towards the forest. "Those are wolves?"

The unseen pack (wolves, dogs, jackals, yeth hounds, hellhounds, or whatever they were) had _still_ not broken from the line of trees and brush. In fact, they seemed to have slowed, and the yips and barks were dying down. The boatswain's crew had edged forward to join their comrade, their weapons up and ready. Shar-Teel stood behind them, neck craned, almost like she was a wolf herself, scenting the air.

"Wolves?" the strange woman replied, reaching up to grip the boatswain's arm and pull herself up. "Yes." The fear had left her voice. The forest went silent. "Wolves, here."

All at once there was a terrible blurring and ripping, the woman's dress going from ragged to rags and her mud-splotched skin rippling out into thick muscles and coarse, brown fur. The boatswain tried to yank himself back, but claws dug into his forearm, ripping as they pulled. Blood trickled to the grass, the man screamed in pain and shock and terror all at once, and then the wolf-thing was yanking him down to clamp her teeth to the front of his throat.

The sailors leapt back, screaming. Edwin, meanwhile, had slipped the _fireball_ reagent back into its pouch, cursing to himself. Too many fools in the way.

Around the wolf-thing and the bleeding man, the sailors had all scattered, turning from the frenzy of teeth and blood to flee. The one with the colorful hair took off first, blindly racing away, towards the trees.

"Stop!" Shar-Teel shouted after her. "Idiot!"

Too late. A pair of shaggy bodies burst from the tree-line, racing at an angle towards the running sailor. Wolves, on four legs, rather than two. She tried to turn from them, harried and herded towards the nearest copse of trees and brush.

Edwin aimed a finger and launched a blast of fire at one of the creatures, managing to catch it in the side and eliciting a yelp, but the beast zipped away into the undergrowth and the other one managed to pounce upon the sailor's back, throwing her face-first into the bushes. Her ceaseless scream of terror rose up and transformed, becoming a choked, agonized cry.

While the idiot sailors had clamored every-which-way, Shar-Teel barreled full-speed at the upright wolf, her longword raised to deliver a viscous chop and a warcry on her lips. _Good._

Edwin turned his attention from her to the forest. _Blast!_ Seemed there was little to be done for the parrot-haired woman; her screaming had ceased, she'd disappeared into the brush, and there were countless snarls and yips coming from her position. A feeding frenzy, by the sound of it. At least in death she'd drawn the pack together, and made them a single target.

Palms open, and turning round and round, Edwin intoned one of his most powerful spells, conjuring up a ball of orange smoke between his hands. Once it had formed he hurled it forward to fly between the trees, where it exploded in a hissing cloud that billowed up to shroud the wood. Pained yips spread through the forest.

_There._ He turned towards the wolf-woman now, in time to see Shar-Teel stumble back, the front of her scalemail tattered and the rents in the armor edged with blood. The werewolf left the ground in a leap, claws first, aiming to bring Shar-Teel down, but the warrior-woman turned her stumble into a roll to the side, springing up and away from the creature.

As the werewolf flew, a streak of arcane bolts sailed from Edwin's fingertips, striking the beast's shoulder and chest, then shattering into sparks. It was not clear if the attack had even singed the creature's hide, and once it landed it whirled on Shar-Teel, ignoring Edwin completely. ( _A little insulting._ )

A violet blur came streaking in between the warrior-woman and the wolf: Alora, charging fast as she could at the roaring monster, shouting "Bad doggie!"

_What in the Hells…_

"Bad! Bad! Bad!" Alora repeated. The werewolf bent in low, jaws wide, and for a moment Edwin was sure the halfling girl would be bitten in two.

Instead, Alora _leapt_ , flying higher than it seemed possible for her little legs to carry her. She planted a foot on the top of the creature's head, and it reared up, tilting back in an attempt to catch the girl in its jaws. That motion just propelled Alora further into the air, vaulting over the beast's back and towards one of the wooden pillars. She caught the trunk of it with a hug, near the top, then scampered up, standing on top.

With a roar the werewolf followed after her, racing along the ground. A full-bodied swing of its paw struck the trunk of the pillar, but Alora had anticipated that and jumped just as it did, flying from one pillar to another. She caught the next one just as she had the first, shimmied up, and then got onto her feet at the top. "Can't catch meeee!" she shouted down.

The beast took the bait, charging for the other pillar now.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of Alora's little game, Edwin drew in a breath for his next spell.

 

* * *

There was almost nothing left of the ship, at least on this little spar of rock and sand; just a shattered, belly-up section of the hull. By the shape of it this looked to be the forecastle of the _Harpsong,_ along with some splintered poles that had once been masts. Approaching the tub of jagged wood, Ashura turned on the beach and looked out to the sea. Likely the stern and midsection, with the cabins and the hold (where her armor had been stored) were out there under the water. She frowned.

Above them, the sun had broken through the clouds, sparkling on the surf and the pebble-sand, and a gentle wind rolled across the light carpet of seagrass that clung to the shore. Gulls cawed and wheeled through the sky. "Little, and broken," Durlyle observed, "but there is good wood here." He was speaking his native tongue, now that it was clear that Ashura understood it. Funny. She was probably the one who sounded stilted now. She was also starting to notice that there were words here and there that she didn't recognize. Words that sounded completely alien, and not based on Thorassi or Illuskan at all.

Kaishas took a deep breath. "Yes. We will strip it. A shame there are no sails intact."

Kneeling at the shoreline and facing away from the others, Ashura searched for any sign of the rest of the ship. Nothing but foam and waves, far as the eye could see. There was no sign of the lifeboats either, at least. That gave her a little hope. She turned. "Is there any way to search the water? For more salvage?"

Delainy gave the sea a thoughtful look. "The tide will only go a little lower. And the waters are cold, though that can be born easily with a blessing from the Great Hunter." She nodded to herself. "I could dive and search."

"What was the cargo?" another member of the clan asked. Taloun was his name, and he was different from the others in many ways: with a bushy red beard and a pinkish, freckled cast to his skin. Between the hair, the freckles, and the man's accent, he seemed to have originally hailed from the Moonshes, though he had just introduced himself to Ashura as 'an old seadog.' Like her, he was a castaway; the survivor of an Amnish merchant vessel that had been sunk by a kraken, saved by the villagers a few years back.

"Hm. Think it was mostly pelts and hides," she answered. "From up north. Valuable stuff in the Amnish markets."

Taloun whistled, and the eyes of the others all went wide. "Beshaba's breath," the sailor swore in Chondathan. "That's a damn shame."

"Sorry. There's a shortage, I take it?"

"There are no hides or furs left," Durlyle said with a sad shake of his head. "There was once much game in the forest, but now even the bears are gone. Hunted to the last by the beasts."

"Ah." She looked up and down the sandbar. "Maybe some crates washed up? They might have floated."

"Aye," Kaishas agreed. "We shall spread and sweep the sands for salvage. Bring whatever you can carry back to the wreck. And Delainy shall dive and search the waters." She looked to the young healer. "Do not stray far. Just see if there is salvage beneath the surface."

A nod from Delainy, as she placed her hands together and rubbed them, a warm glow beginning to emanate from her palms. "Do not fear. The sharks will let me pass." The glow was apparently a 'blessing from the Great Hunter.' It spread, silhouetting her for a moment, and then faded.

They fanned out to search the beach, walking the sands and threading their way past the clumps of jellyfish that the storm had drudged up. There was little to find but driftwood and seaweed, until Taloun spotted something sticking out of the sand. Several somethings, in fact: three broad and sturdy table legs, carved from mahogany and gently tapered. Once they had gathered and dug a bit in the sand, they found the edge of the table that the legs belonged to, and managed to lift and flip it.

Ashura laughed. "Heh. Think this was the captain's desk. Maybe has some gems in it or something." The moment she had said that, she felt a little silly. Doubtful that these people cared a whit for polished rocks.

Still, Kaishas was eager to yank the top drawer open, a hopeful, almost hungry look in her eyes. That look did not fade when she reached in, pulling a handful of scrolls out. Gently unfurling one, she gasped, and Taloun slipped in beside her. One glance at the scroll, and he laughed a joyous laugh, as if they had found the lost treasure of Black Alaric himself.

"Is this truly it?" Kaishas asked the sailor.

"It is! It is my Gan! Sea charts! A fine collection of 'em at that!"

"Then we've reason to celebrate tonight."

 

* * *

They raced through the forest now, the barking of the wolves and the pained screech of Edwin's summoned creature echoing behind them. The conjured pawn (a giant, barbed, and armored insect straight from the pits of the Second Hell), was buying them a retreat, even if it's pincers could not pierce the damnable hides of these _thrice-damnable_ upright wolves. The bulk of the pack appeared to be worgs, and his spells had managed to fell a few, but the pair of creatures that led them…

Dogs and wolves have thick hides, and the enchanted sort are even worse. These creatures were so leathery-thick, it seemed, that they even shrugged off evocations. He could throw more conjured creatures at them, but that would only be a delaying measure, now that the wolves had taken down the hellish mantis.

They burst out of the woods and into an open field of grass and wildflowers, Shar-Teel stumbling along with a hand pressed to the ragged wound at her chest. Behind her ran the cook, the pudgy ship's mate, and Ratface. Alora wasn't immediately in sight, but that hardly meant that she'd been eaten. Edwin did not concern himself, instead, standing and turning to face the forest. A strategically placed wall of fire would impede their pursuers for a little-

"Look'it that!" Alora (down at grass level) squeaked.

Edwin turned. At the far side of the field there seemed to be some sort of rickety wooden structure. _Good. A defensible position._ Saving his conjured flames for later, he took the lead and hurried towards the cabin. He slowed, however, when they drew nearer and the crude wooden door flew open, a hunched figure emerging.

_Bah! If this is another shape-shifter…_

Still, the hut seemed the best bet. Edwin jogged on, eying the figure, as they ran by neatly planted rows of blooming yellow flowers. The man in the doorway was dressed about as poorly as the woman-turned-wolf had been (a bad sign), in a threadbare shirt and tattered trousers, all riddled with holes and smudged with dirt. He appeared to be elven as well; sharp features, tapered ears, silver hair and such, though his face was more lined and worn than any of the fair folk that Edwin had ever seen.

"In here!" the elf shouted once they had neared, beckoning. "Come in! And you'd better not be figments this time! I've had enough of that." For some odd reason he was speaking old Thorassi.

Stopping at the door, Edwin crossed his arms. The pack had not emerged from the forest yet. There was room for cautious negotiation (or to blast this suspicious hermit with a spell, if need be.) "Into a wolf's layer?" he asked, speaking the old, dead tongue. "I think not."

"Bah," the elf huffed. "I'm no wolf." He pointed past Edwin's feet. "Wouldn't have made it past all that wolfsbane if I was."

Edwin glanced back. _Hn._ Those were indeed flowers that were colloquially known as 'wolfsbane,' but warding off werewolves? It all seemed rather silly. He turned back to the elf. "We will enter, if you back up, and keep your distance."

The elf grumbled again. "I go centuries without proper company, and when some finally shows it's a huffy Thayvian. Go figure." Still, he did back up.

The cabin's interior was no less dilapidated than the exterior; windowless, dusty, and lined with various kegs and barrels, along with a shelf of neatly arranged jars of herbs on the far wall. Looked like more of a storage space than any sort of home.

The elven man had backed up to one of the barrels, and now he cocked his head to examine his guests. "Yes, can't be figments. Far too vivid a shade of red, and I'm _certain_ that I would never dream up a Thayvian rescuer."

Ignoring the lunatic's rantings, Edwin turned back to the door. The howls and cries of the wolves were growing in pitch. Sounded as if they had entered the wildflower field. "Shut and bar that door!" he shouted to the sailors. They gave him a stupid look, then leapt to obey. "We'd best use every measure to barricade ourselves, as I doubt these beasts can be warded off with…arnica flowers?"

The elf chortled. "When the flowers are blessed by The Moonmaiden? They most certainly can. One of the many tricks I use to keep the creatures back."

The three remaining sailors had shut the door, and were now propping whatever they could find against it. "Erm…careful please," the elf muttered. "Though if it makes you feel better, I suppose you can play at rearranging my barrels. Just don't break anything." There was no indication that the simpletons understood a word he said.

Shar-Teel had slumped down on one of the kegs, clutching at her wounds. Blood dripped down her fingers and ran between the scales of her armor. "You say The Moonmaiden?" she asked through clenched teeth, speaking Thorassi.

Edwin raised an eyebrow at the big brute speaking the tongue of western scholars. _Ah yes, she was raised nobility, wasn't she?_

"Yes," the elf replied. "A strange goddess for one of the _Tel-quesser_ to venerate, but I was ready to drop on my knees for-"

"Don't care!" she shouted. "You a healer?" Her eyes swished down to her wounded chest, then up to give the elf a significant look.

He caught on. "Ah, yes. Just minor blessings, but I can see to…" He froze, cocking his head. "Oh. You were not…bitten, were you? You're not about to transform? You do seem a bit…bristly."

Shar-Teel growled, which didn't encourage the elf at all. "No," she snapped. "It just…" she searched for words. No doubt she'd be saying something more colorful in Chondathan. "Hit me a bit. Would you get on with the prayer before I cover your floor with blood?"

"It could do with some color. But yes. Yes. I will see what I can do to heal you. And we will need to wash the wounds, and watch you closely." He gestured towards the other doorway in the drab chamber, which seemed to lead down into some sort of earthen cellar. "Down there. There's carpets where we can lay you down, and a freshwater spring in the cave, for washing. And belladonna flowers. Can't be too careful." He offered an arm, and after a long glare Shar-Teel grudgingly took it and let the elven man help her towards the steps.

"My true home is down there," the elf went on. "And you all can take shelter. Although, there's something I'll be wanting in return."

"Isn't that always the case?" Edwin grumbled, following them down.


	3. Welcomed

_"That long-drawn, wavering howl has, for all its fearful resonance, some inherent sadness in it, as if the beasts would love to be less beastly if only they knew how and never cease to mourn their own condition."_ -Angela Carter _, The Company of Wolves_

* * *

Beyond the walls and the rooftops of the village the sky had dimmed to the faintest of blues, the sun long gone and the stars peeking out. Torches were being lit to beat back the coming darkness, and at the center of the village square twin firepits burned, flames lapping at wooden rotisseries were skewers of fish and shrimp roasted and dribbled. Along the edges of the fires hot coals had been raked out and smoothed, and neat rows of earthenware cooking pots were braced above the heat. From time to time one of the men who tended to the meals would lift the lid of a pot, peeking inside and letting out a plume of steam.

_'A feast to celebrate the bounty that the sea has given,'_ Ashura had been told. _'And to welcome you.'_

It looked like most of the settlement —excepting those who stayed to guard the gate, watchtower, and walls— had turned out for this big communal meal; around forty adults and half as many children. Some bustled over the cookfires, while most slouched about and chatted on the logs that ringed the pits, many women nursing or rocking their babes, the men jostling and gesturing as they gabbed away, and the children playing games of chase, drawing in the sand, or dancing with colorful sack dolls.

Three men were bent over sturdy hide drums, beating out a gentle rhythm, while a fourth man shook a rattle and a fifth blew out a tune on a wooden flute. The instruments seemed familiar enough to Ashura, but the music was unlike any she had ever heard: the drumbeats simple, firm, and steady as a heartbeat, while the flute trilled and soared. Had her thinking of Garrick. _He'd enjoy this. Would want to tune up his harp and join in._

"This is the music that we carried from the land of the great-grandmothers," Durlyle told her, noticing that she was watching the players. "We lost much in the passage, and the breaking apart, and then in the _krelatul._ We lost the gods of our great-grandmothers, and many of their words and ways. But we kept the _waton."_

" _Waton_?"

Durlyle pursed his lips, contemplating how to explain. He then made a fist, tapping it against his bare chest.

"Huh? Like a heartbeat?"

"A bit like, yes."

Just one of those things with no good translation, it seemed. She changed the subject. "So your people sailed from this…land of the great-grandmothers?"

"And from your lands. We were two peoples, brought together and belonging now as one. Some of our ancestors came from the east. From the…long coast."

"The Sword Coast. Where they spoke Auld Thorassi."

"Yes. The land of your people."

Ashura just nodded. _Technically_ her mother was from somewhere around Damara, though she'd never gotten the full story of exactly where, or how she had come to live in the Heartlands. And her father…well…

"We are children of the great-grandmothers of the west, and great-grandfathers of the east," Durlyle concluded. "It is a long story."

"And he will tell that story," Delainy cut in, "after the feasting. Can it wait brother? It smells as if the meal is near done."

Durlyle laughed, turning to his sister. "You are hungry, huh?" He poked her in the side.

"Ravenous! You did not dive to the bottom of the sea this day! I could eat a full net's catch!"

"I shall not stand in your way."

"Oh?" Delainy cocked her head, grinning. "I get first bite?"

An affable wave of the boy's hand. "Yes. Sure."

Delainy let out a dramatic sigh, then poked her brother's arm. "Too easy!" She looked to Ashura. "He demures too easy, no? Never will he snatch up the best pickings." With that she shot to her feet, straightening out her dress, and ambling towards the mat of pine branches were the cooks were beginning to lay out the skewers. Durlyle looked down, shaking his head and seeming a little embarrassed.

_Huh? What was that about? Demures?_

Others had risen as well, snatching up square wooden slats that seemed to serve as plates, then pushing their way towards the mat and reaching for their meals. The little conical lids of the cooking pots had been lifted as well, and Ashura stood and peered at the plates beneath, incredulous. She was expecting to see hunks of meat simmering there, and was planning on avoiding that stuff or anything else that she didn't recognize.

To her surprise, however, it appeared that the cooking pots had just been used to roast vegetables and herbs. There were plants that looked a bit like leeks, kidney shaped tubers, wilted greens, and bulbs of roasted garlic, the cloves soft in their seared skins. _Hm._ Maybe she had read too much into all that talk over the sailor's corpses.

( _Or they ate the sailors for the midday meal, when I wasn't around. Best not to ask_ ).

Kaishas stood before the bed of needles while the meal was laid out, her stance broad and her head shifting from side to side as others pressed in behind her. Ashura thought there might be some sort of convocation or a speech, but instead the headwoman just shoved and shouldered several women aside so she could snatch up the first pickings. The others followed suit, jostling to get to their meals, and not knowing what else to do Ashura grabbed one of the little slat-plates and wove her way through the crowd. She was _damn_ hungry, after all.

At the bed of branches, there was chatter and laughter all about. The crowd had loosely segregated itself by gender, men on one side and women on the other, all shoving and bobbing their way in to grab at the food, twisting, tugging, and pushing. Seemed like a milling free-for-all, rather than a line, though a step or two short of a brawl; no blows were landed, and no one was shoved hard enough to actually fall over.

Ashura paused briefly at the wall of bent backs. _What to- ah._ She saw an opening and slipped in, bending to reach for a skewer of shrimp and diced white fish. She had just begun to lift it when a hand shot in and snatched for her skewer, grasping the other side. A woman's face hovered close to hers, hair gossamer-pale and face stony.

"Mine," the woman snapped. "Had my eye on that fat fish." She tugged, and Ashura held on, a bit dumbfounded. All the fish looked the same to her. The woman's eyes shifted askance, to a toddler who was sitting in the dirt nearby. "I've a pup to feed," she added. The kid looked to be somewhere between one and two; a happy little butterball in swaddling cloth, smiling in his mom's direction.

There was plenty of food, and Ashura pondered just letting go, but she felt many eyes upon her, and immediate talk had died down. Breathes were held, an unspoken expectation in the air. Seemed that _this_ was the local ritual, rather than a prayer over the food.

With a straightening and a twist, Ashura yanked at the skewer. "I grabbed first," she snapped. There was a momentary tug-o-war, their fists clenched, and then the stick slipped from the blond woman's grip. Ashura put the skewer behind her back, they shared a glare, and she made a fist with her free hand, just in case. _Hopefully_ she wouldn't have to punch this bitch to prove herself here, but best to be ready.

It didn't come to that; the other woman just gave an indignant snort, then turned and searched out a different skewer. Ashura turned as well, reaching for one of the steaming clay plates of grilled greens. Sure enough, some new woman pressed in and tried to shove her aside, but she shoved right back and knocked the woman out of the way. There was laughter all around, and several people gave Ashura a hearty nod as she snatched up the rest of her meal and then made her way back towards the log.

Delainy was there already, chewing, and she grinned up, oblivious to the juice trickling down her chin. "Good," she said. "You met Maralee's challenge well. As one who belongs would."

"Uh. Thanks." Ashura sat down, popping a shrimp into her mouth. Succulent and almost sweet; seemed like they had slathered it in some sort of vegetable oil. "That the initiation then? Win a fight over a shish cabob?"

Delainy cocked her head and pursed her lips. "The…initiation? Hardly. Just a…a measuring, I suppose. Many are curious. They will test you. Always face forward, and always show strength."

Ashura nodded. That sounded familiar enough. A bit like what she had done on her little 'adventure' a year back, at the Bandit King's camp. And what was it Viconia had told her a few times? _'I shall follow your strength.'_

Bit of an odd way to welcome a stranger, though. These people didn't exactly go in for the usual laws of hospitality.

 

* * *

While it was far from luxurious, the cellar beneath the cabin was at least habitable, and superior to sheltering under beached boats. Ragged carpets crisscrossed the earthen floor, and colorful drapes lined the walls, hiding the dirt and creating the illusion that the place was more a home than a hollowed pit. The ceiling had been buttressed with cross-beams and then boarded up, and the scent of burnt sage and dried herbs went a ways towards covering the cellar's earthy smell.

Twas a cozy enough space too, with desks at the edges, a table in the center, and several mismatched chairs standing about. There was a small metal washtub in one corner, several spinning wheels (for some reason), and at one end stood a wooden slab topped by a stuffed mattress that must have served as the ancient elf's bed. At the other end of the chamber lay a passage, built a bit like a mineshaft and leading deeper into the earth. When things grew quiet, a faint trickle could be heard from somewhere back in the cave, though silence was rare, what with the sobs coming from the redheaded sailor, along with the halfling girl's attempts to comfort her.

Face pinched and eyes cast down, Alora patted the larger woman's arm. "I know. I've lost friends too," she was saying. "Know that's no relief, but I understand is all."

"Those things…" the sailor muttered. "There was just no stopping them…"

_Hm._ That certainly was certainly a concern, though falling apart would do them no good. Reclining in his chair, Edwin looked down at his unopened spellbook. If they were to face those creatures again – _clever_ creatures that could easily shrug off magic– he would need to plan his arsenal of spells _very_ carefully.

Like any competent conjurer, Edwin had read his share of bestiaries, and he was fairly certain that he knew what the beasts they had faced in the forest were. No ordinary werewolves; these were the feral offspring of generations that had lived with the curse and let it run wild, interbreeding with worgs along the way (disgusting!) Wolfweres, the bestiaries called them —a ridiculous term, but it was meant to convey the fact that these were beasts first and foremost, choosing occasionally to disguise themselves as men. ( _Or as damsels in distress_ , Edwin supposed).

Noise from the far cave drew him from his musings, and he glanced up to find Shar-Teel lumbering out of the passageway, still haggard and pale. Her hair was damp, and she was dressed in only trousers and extensive bandages, along with a cloak that the elven man had lent her. Her lame, mangled hand hung at her side, and her other arm clutched at her bandaged chest. Injured and weak, but the woman managed to sweep the room with a sharp glare, lest anyone challenge her or —far worse— offer pity.

Still, Alora couldn't help but be friendly. "Hope you're feeling better, Ess-Tee," she said with a chipper smile.

Shar-Teel's reply was an unintelligible groan as she hobbled along, the ancient elf following close behind her. He looked a bit weary himself.

"At least you're a mummy now," Alora added, "and not a wolfy."

"Feel like a damned chew toy." Shar-Teel crossed the room, nearing the sleeping area.

"Ahem." The elf cleared his throat. "That bed belongs to me…"

Shar-Teel stopped, turned, and gave the man a long, even glare. Their gazes locked for a time.

"Oh…bah," the elf eventually said with a wave of his hand. "Rest there, if ye insist. I have not been able to slip into the reverie for a good century or two, but perhaps I shall suddenly regain the habit." He was speaking Chondathan now, for the sake of the sailors. Apparently, before becoming a mad hermit, the man had been fairly well-educated.

Facing the bed once more, Shar-Teel practically face-planted onto it, rolling around a bit to get comfortable. As she did that, the elf walked over to his desk, leaning back to survey the people who had crowded his cellar. "I suppose I should try to be a more hospitable host," he grumbled. "What is the custom, anyway? The offering of a meal? A drink? Something about bread?"

The Chultan man who had been the ship's cook nodded. "Breaking bread, yes."

"Ah. Well there is no bread, but how about some belladonna bun-cake? Your warrior-woman seemed to only have claw marks, but perhaps one of you was bitten and did not notice? Hm? We cannot be too careful."

The cook let out an uneasy laugh. "No thank you. I think we would know if we were bitten, and would all rather not spend the night sick on your floor."

"Hm," the hermit grunted. "My signature dish then? Vegetable surprise. Tis fine stuff, especially when it is garnished with cheese (shame I haven't seen a goat or a cow in centuries)."

"Is the 'surprise' belladonna?" Edwin asked.

"Hm? What? No. No! Of course not." He didn't sound particularly convincing.

 

* * *

Wooden cups were passed around the fire pits, as the feast progressed, filled with some sort of cooled, tangy tea that tickled Ashura's tongue and made it a bit numb. There was no shoving or fighting over the stuff; everyone got a cup and everyone relaxed.

A few wooden pipes were being lit as well, as the food dwindled, pungent smoke wafting up towards the brightening stars. It didn't smell at all like pipeweed or black lotus to Ashura; in fact, the smoke reminded her faintly of the kitchens back at Candlekeep, which had always been thick with culinary herbs.

Once the last of the meal was gone, the plates had been put away, the pine branches had been cleared, the tea had been downed, and Ashura had tasted from one of the pipes herself (coughing quite a bit – whatever herb they burned in them was even more pungent close up), the drums began to swell and cheers rose up from the crowd, chanting strange words. Seemed like some sort of dance was starting.

Several men stood up, laughing and tapping shoulders, taunting each other as they made their way towards the brightly lit stretch of dirt between the fires. They filed in two by two, barefoot now, in nothing but their loincloths, then each took up a fur cloak from a pile at the edge of the ring. One by one they slipped the garments –which looked much like the cloaks they wore throughout the workday– over their shoulders, then their feet began to stamp in time with the drums as they entered the full firelight. Motions with their hands and shoulders made the cloaks shake and billow.

Not much as far as costumery went. _That's the thing, isn't it?_ Ashura realized as she watched the dance begin. She had read quite a bit about tribal cultures, and there were so many things missing here. Where were the decorations? The jewels, the beads, the seashells, the hair ties, the teeth or bones or body paint? In their own weird way, these people were about as austere as Candlekeep monks. Or more so. The monks at least wore color-coded robes.

No color, but the dancers did actually make good use of the cloaks, shaking them like instruments unto themselves, in time with the music. Most of the men hung at the edge of the ring now, one pair of dancers dominating, waving and beating their cloaks, making the fur rise and bristle like things alive as they circled and shifted, footwork quick. They mirrored each other, swaying, turning, one's motions answering the other's, eyes sharp and confrontational.

Back they danced, then they charged forward. A pass, not quite touching, then they whirled like jousters and passed again. Now they were low to the ground, chests level with the dirt, eyes always locked. Another charge, this one faster and fiercer, and the cloaks went flying into the air – billowing like tufts of sailing fur.

Rather than colliding, the men again twisted; touching, but barely. Seemed that they were trying to out-maneuver each other, now locked into something between a dance and a wrestling match. They never quite grappled, pushed, or exchanged blows –every motion almost seemed like part of a ritual– though they were dazzlingly quick; a great show of reflex, speed, and flexibility.

Quite a spectacle, really, especially considering that the men now wore next to nothing. Muscles strained, limbs twisted, sweat beaded, and Ashura watched closely. And now the other contenders, who had been hanging at the periphery, joined in the dance, taking separate sections of the ring where each pair made a challenge of their own. Soon every cloak was tossed aside, limbs twisting, bodies turning, and the drums thumping and _thrumming_ , faster and faster. The pace of a hunt.

Or a battle. This was imitated combat; fluid, exaggerated, and stylized.

At some arbitrary point one of the first pair of challengers bowed his head, and the other stood proudly above him, chin back and arms raised. There were cheers from the crowd, and Ashura felt a tap at her shoulder. She looked back, and Durlyle's twinkling eyes caught hers as he exhaled a tendril of smoke and her a pipe. She took it, put it to her lips, and took a long, cautious draw. Again, she had to stifle several coughs.

Delainy chuckled. "You will learn," she said as she took the pipe from Ashura and drew a puff herself; slow, languid, and careful. The drumbeats intensified even more, the 'defeated' dancer shambled off, and the rest picked up the pace.

 

* * *

Edwin had watched the old elf carefully through the entire creation of his 'vegetable surprise,' and it appeared that no belladonna flowers had gone into the mix. Still, he watched the halfling girl eat first, and did not take a bite of his meal or a sip from his tea until the others had tested theirs. They all sat in the spacious bedchamber now, the sailors having taken turns bathing in the spring while the meal was prepared (miracle of miracles!)

"There is no wine, I am afraid," the old hermit lamented. "Ran out of that about eighty years ago, and as far as I know grapes do not grow on this island."

"Don't need grapes," Ratface said. "Bet we can ferment just about any old thing lying 'round here, if the dogs keep us pinned long enough." She showed off her (hideous) teeth with a broad grin. "I had a nice still goin' on the _Harpsong._ Wager I could make a new one out'a what's sittin' around here. You show me some fruit, and maybe we can get to makin' rum! That'll make this stay more interesting."

"We are _not_ staying in this hole long enough to distill spirts," Edwin grumbled.

"The next step in being hospitable," Alora pointed out, facing the old man and ignoring the others, "isn't wine, anyways. It's introductions!" She offered a hand. "I'm Alora of Gullykin, and I'm ever so happy to meet you, Mr. Elf Hermit. What should we call you?"

"Oh. Hm." 'Mr Elf Hermit' took Alora's hand, albeit timidly. "Let us see if I can even remember, after all this time. Ah…yes. I am Dradeelishan Veradrael of Teuveamanthaar."

Ratface gave him a bewildered look, and the others raised their eyebrows as well.

"Of course, Dradeel will do. It is what most people called me." He chuckled. "'Elven names; always a bloody mouthful of unnecessary vowels.' That is what old Balduran used to tell me. In fact, he wanted to shorten my name all the way down to 'Drad,' but I was having none of-"

"What?!" the ship's cook interrupted.

"Dradeelishan Veradrael of-"

"Not that," Ratface cut in. "What's this about Balduran? Are we talking _the_ Balduran?"

Dradeel shrugged. "Maybe? I have no clue how many humans share that name. The fellow I worked for was an explorer, if that helps to narrow things down."

"Wow. The Balduran who built the city that's named after 'em?"

"Never heard of that. Built himself a nice little fortress, in this town called Bayside, near where the Chionthar meets the sea. But a city? No. We must be speaking of different-"

"You imbecile," Edwin snapped. "Bayside grew into the city now known as Baldur's Gate."

"Aye." Ratface gave a hearty nod. "There's a big old statue of Balduran out in the bay, with his horned helmet 'n everything."

Dradeel let out a little hiccup of a laugh, then another. Soon he sounded almost hysterical, and it took a moment before he could speak again. "My. I've been away a _long_ time, haven't I?"

"Obviously," Edwin spat. "Balduran was last heard from three and a half centuries ago —if one is to believe the shoddy history kept in the region— on his second voyage to Anchorome. I suppose we are to believe that you were a member of his crew?"

"Aye. I was the ship's mage on _The Wandering Eye_ , Balduran's flagship. A skilled mage as well, but alas…do you know what fate befalls a mage once his supply of spells is depleted and his spellbook is lost?"

"He is forced to take up a different trade, I suppose." Edwin gave one of the spinning wheels a pointed look. "Seamstressing, perhaps?"

"Something like that."

"That's sad," Alora said. "I bet you miss all your sparkly magic."

Dradeel looked down. "Oh, you have _no_ idea."

"So what _exactly_ happened to your vessel?" Edwin asked, impatient. "(If we are to even believe that you accompanied this…this legendary figure. It all sounds preposterous.")

"Eh. Believe what ye wish. Tis quite an involved and preposterous tale, I will not argue that. Though, I suppose, since we are huddled down here with the wolves baying outside, there is time enough to tell it."

"Oh yes!" Alora leaned forward in her seat, making the ancient chair wobble and rock a bit. "Story time!"

 

* * *

The dancing (or was it an athletic competition? Seemed a bit of both) drew down, as did the drumbeats. Breathless, laughing, and slapping each other's sweaty shoulders, the dancers sauntered out of the firelight, and as they did Delainy swept in to stand in their place, poised with her chin held high and her cloak framing her form. All through the crowd voices dropped off, every eye upon her.

There was near silence, for just a moment, and then Delainy spoke, her voice carrying to every ear and every corner of the common square. "Sated, sorted, and strengthened —all Belonging— let us now act as one. Let us offer voice to the Great Beast…" Tilting her head even further back, she faced the darkness above. The moon was peeking just over the eastern wall of the village, a broad silver disk, darkened a bit at the edge. Waxing. "Let us breathe in, _alata_ , and find the scent. _Alata,_ and we trace the steps. The Great Beast puts the fire in our hearts, and the _waton_ guides us down the surest path…"

Here was the convocation that Ashura had expected earlier, a prayer that Delainy led her people through, voice soaring and eyes shining with firelight, using more and more strange words that Ashura could not follow — remnants of these people's lost past. Again and again, the shamaness spoke of the Great Beast; the boons that he had granted them, and the paths that he guided them down. There were words of hunting, enduring, persistence, and strength, and as Delainy spoke of paths and running as one, she bent her head, focusing on the ground before her, eyes darting as if tracing the footsteps of her quarry.

_A prayer to Malar._ Ashura was certain of it, even if that name was never used directly.

The drums had been picking up, bit by bit, as Delainy intoned her prayer, and now they seemed to thunder; to shake the dirt beneath Ashura's feet and log she sat upon. The light from the twin firepits appeared brighter now, and the darkness beyond had deepened. While the drums reverberated, the flute soared higher and higher – the cry of a hawk, swirling in rhythm with Delainy's words as her prayer became a song.

Several soaring notes as the shamaness faced the earth, then her head pitched back and the flute fell away, along with the drums, and now the only sound in the square was Delainy's mournful, oscillating cry, echoing up to the moon and the stars. Hard to say if she as singing in the alien language anymore, of if there simply were no words.

The cry went on and on, keening breath after keening breath, until finally, her voice spent, Delainy lowered her head and her arms, stepping back from the center of the firelight, every eye following her and every breath held. Her brother had entered the circle at some point, backlit at the periphery, and now he stepped in and patted his sister's shoulder, smiling and surveying the crowd. Breathes resumed, and the drums picked up once again; steady and slow, keeping a heartbeat time.

"The Great Beast gives us keen senses," Durlyle began, "to know the path ahead. But we must always know the paths that have led us to this place, as well. To this day. We must not forget the great-grandmothers, and the wisest grandfather, and the lessons that they taught."

His voice seemed deeper than Ashura remembered, resonating through the square. Then again, all sound had deepened: the drums, the flute, the cricket chirps, and the murmur of the crowd. Talk about 'keen senses;' the whole world was brighter, deeper, larger, and stranger to Ashura now. An effect of whatever had been in the pipe? Or maybe the tea?

As he spoke, Durlyle gestured and swiveled, making sure to address every glowing face in the crowd just as his sister had. Rather than calling out a prayer, though, he spun a campfire tale:

A tale of two peoples, living at the mouths of great rivers on the opposite sides of the world. A tale of how one of them had built a great ship, led by a cruel man that Durlyle called ' _The Traveler Who Would Never Belong_ , to sail to the other side of the world.

He spoke of the land from which the easterners had come, with its jagged rocks and great, winged reptiles, and of the land to the west; a place of endless, towering trees, of ice and wolves and great cats and lumbering, wooly beasts. A land of fay folk that walked through dreams, pale as ice and unforgiving as winter, and of cunning spirits that had taught men to change their skins and their hearts and their dreams, and thus evade the pale ones.

The leader of the ship-builders was the Traveler, and the leader of the western people was the Wisest Grandfather, who bade them not to resist when the Traveler's men threatened them with steel, insisting that they work the great ship and journey across the sea. 'We must endure,' Wisest Grandfather told them. 'As we always have. Through the trials of the Pale Ones, and the Stone King, and now this journey to the rising sun."

Many of the young men had resented the decision to surrender, and resentment grew as they were taught the ship-ways, flogged for any failure or transgression. Some endured, but others bristled, and all through the ship there was argument and discord. The Grandfather tried to calm things, and to argue for better treatment with the Traveler, but for his efforts he was punished by both sides, and eventually tossed into the sea. He sank, cursing them all, and the sky darkened with his words.

Durlyle's story grew a bit harder to follow from there. More of the alien words, and terms that Ashura didn't understand. He spoke of a breaking, and the _krelatul_ , and of families joined, then split; of those who fell, and now live as beasts in the forest.

_Hm._ 'Those who fell' seemed to be the monsters that everyone here spoke of, north of the village walls. Feral people, who had once been part of-

_Oh._ Ashura blinked, head foggy and spinning, vision bright and dancing with the images that Durlyle conjured up with his words and gestures. The 'beasts' that everyone here was afraid of had once been...people.

_That man, Mendas!_ He had been intent on getting the ship to an island ( _this island?_ ) and had a strange accent. A bit like the accent of these people?

And he had been a werewolf. The 'beasts' had to be werewolves! Her shortblade had easily pierced their hide, and that was why these people saw the silvered weapon as some sort of salvation.

As the storyteller spoke on, arms flung wide and gesturing in time with his words, Ashura could almost see the savage monsters conjured up before her. The drums beat steady, but there seemed to be longer spaces between each _thrum_ , and in the flickering firelight and the dance of Durlyle's arms –and the shadows they created– the monsters danced as well.

A shiver ran down Ashura's spine, and she found her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, for comfort. At the same time, though, she leaned forward far as she could on the log. _Nothing like a good campfire tale._

Durlyle's eyes were wide and his grin sly. Shadows writhed, creatures stalked, and branches out in the forest whispered as the tales went on: of clever and determined people banding together, men and women both eastern and western, working to survive and fend off the creatures that lurked out there in the dark.

 

* * *

In the interest of party moral, Edwin had sacrificed the conjured, overstuffed bed that he would have preferred to sleep upon, instead using his _minor creation_ spell to conjure up cots and blankets for everyone. For that, he had only gotten the most rudimentary of thanks (ingrates!) before they had all retired. Now in darkness, and relative quiet (punctuated by occasional snores and snuffles from the halfling girl — how could such noise arise from one so small?) he lay awake, mulling over what the old hermit had told them.

Balduran's last voyage had been (if the elf was to be believed) more successful than the historians had guessed, at least at first. The small fleet _had_ made it to Anchorome, if a bit hobbled after several sahuagin attacks, and a year later they had even managed to escape, carrying fabulous wealth.

That treasure had come at great cost, however; by the time they had returned to their two beached ships, the vast majority of Balduran's crew had been lost to the strange monsters, terrible storms, and savage elves of the new world. Left with only thirty men, they had been forced to abandon the more damaged of their ships, and 'press' ( _enslave_ ) several score natives to fill out the crew of the flagship. The newcomers had endured their role stoically, at first, but eventually their shaman had stirred up trouble. Balduran had ordered the old man 'exiled' ( _thrown overboard_ ), and the shaman had gone down shouting curses.

Sometime later, when a plague of beetles ruined most of their food stores, the crew began to fear that the curse was real, though it was only when they anchored off the coast of the island and took to the land to forage that they learned the full truth. In the forest, lycanthropy broke out among the crew, starting with the natives from Anchorome, but then spreading like wildfire. Cut off from the ship, Dradeel had used up the last of his magic to escape the creatures and survive, hiding in a cave that later become the cellar of his cabin.

He had —at least according to his tale— spent more than a year trapped down here, living off of water and cave fungus, until the Moonmaiden had taken pity and answered his prayers with the knowledge and power to ward himself from the beasts. Little by little, he had crept out to explore, gathering what supplied he could, though the few times he had dared approach the ruined ship had nearly cost him his life. It was there that the greatest of the wolves made their lair.

Over the years Dradeel had managed to cannibalize pieces from Balduran's abandoned fortifications, building this ramshackle little home and making himself comfortable. From there he had subsisted all this time, able to survive, but trapped and powerless without his spellbook. A pathetic existence (if any of it was to be believed at all).

Edwin had his doubts. At the least he would need to see this _Wandering Eye_ for himself, and see some record of Balduran before he fully believed that this madman was truly the survivor of a journey right out of myth.

Of course, if they were to do as the old elf asked, they would see the ship soon enough. Apparently he wanted them to plunder the ruins: _'My spellbook has been moldering there for three centuries. Find it, and we will have a means to finally escape this wretched place. It will serve as payment for your room and board, as well.'_

_Bah._ The others had perked up at the mention of escape, but it sounded to Edwin like the old man was just using them for wolf-fodder.

Unable to sleep, and tired of laying on his back while his thoughts swirled and the halfling snored, Edwin slipped out from beneath his blanket and donned his outer robes. If he was to be restless, he would at least put that restlessness to use!

A whispered _darkvision_ spell lit the room in chalky white-on-black, and then –silent save the swish of his robes– Edwin made his way up the steps and onto the ground floor of the cabin. He walked to the center of the room, settling down and sitting cross-legged. _Hm._ If this beached ship truly was the layer of the wolves, _and_ they were to assault it, careful plans would need to be made. The island needed to be scouted. Thoroughly.

Fingers steepled, he focused his vision for a time upon the dusty wooden floor before him, then his hands shot out, his posture straightened, and he whispered a quick and careful incantation. A pale glow bloomed in answer to his words, centered on the surface of the floor, and seams of wind began to rise up from there, tossing a spiral of dust about. The breeze grew, and then a pale, slender creature came swirling up from the pool of light, its wings billowing out and its arms rising high, like a dancer's. Three feet tall, with an angular face, impish wings, and a spindly, vaguely feminine shape, the creature was semi-transparent, tapering off and becoming less and less substantial below the waist, to the point where its feet were virtually invisible.

An air mephit. Of all the creatures that could be snatched from the planes and bound by Edwin's arts, these made for the most effective scouts. Not that they were _ideal_ (the day that he found a way to summon a creature capable of true invisibility —some sort of shadow demon, perhaps— he would abandon mephits completely), but they were swift, silent, and could curve the air about them, distorting their already insubstantial forms. Better for scouting than a blazing hellhound, at the least.

Once the mephit had finished its little pirouetting twirl, it (or she? That was always confusing, as the things had distinctive voices and shapes, but no genitals. _Eh. Let's call it it_ ) settled into a hover. Looking down at Edwin, the creature's shoulders slumped, recognition and disappointment crossing its face. "You?" it grumbled. "Again?!"

"Yes. Me."

A pout. "Every time ya summons me, I end up getting ripped up and scattered to the four winds!" the mephit whined. It had a high, squeaky voice.

"Bah. You always reform. In an hour or so, when you find yourself back on your home plane, be grateful that you did not end up in a werewolf's belly, the way a fleshy creature would if they went where I am about to send you."

"Aww. But it still hurts! Are ya _sure_ I can't put ma talents to a different use? Just this once?" The mephit's bald little head pivoted, appraising the room. "This place is a mess. I could dust up and-"

"I am _not_ wasting my breath _arguing_ with a semi-sentient gust of wind." Edwin crooked a finger and pointed. "You will…" A pause. "Though there _are_ other tasks, I suppose."

The mephit's head bobbed with several enthusiastic nods.

"You may remember a girl that I sent you searching for once before, in the catacombs beneath Candlekeep? You are no bloodhound, but perhaps…"

 

* * *

With the twins at her side and the dirt crunching beneath her feet, Ashura made her way down the moonlit path. The drums slept now, most of the village having retired, and the trio's footfalls and the faint chitter of crickets were the only sounds to be heard. All around them loomed the dark humps and sturdy lines of the huts and the walls, dusted in silver light from Selune. The moon pulsed with a steady glow, waxing bright, yet somehow small and distant at this point in her ascent. Her tears glinted and framed her face, and the spring stars fanned out from there.

Every step seemed to take a little longer than it should, as if Ashura's feet were made of lead, or time itself were distorted ( _tranceleaf_ , Durlyle had called the stuff in the pipes), though her senses had cleared a little since the time at the fireside. She slowed, and the twins passed her by, climbing the steps up towards the hut that the three of them were to share.

Stopping fully, Ashura turned around and let them go. While this _leaf_ stuff lasted, she figured, she might as well enjoy it. And it was a lovely night. She tilted her head back, and breathed in deep.

The moon fascinated her especially. Selune was a tiny point, up there in the great vault of the sky, fractured at her edge by darkness, yet the silver light seemed bright enough to burn. A couple days, and Selune would wax to full; a hunter's moon that would illuminate this village as clear as day. Ashura did not know why, but she felt her toes curl and her pulse quicken, just looking up.

Breathing in, and feeling the cool night's breeze tickle her cheek, she cast her gaze across the village. There was only one torchlight visible now, bobbing along in the hand of someone making their way home. The flame faltered, then whisked out as whoever it was reached their destination, and then all was dark. Unlike the towns and cities that she had grown accustomed to —or the monastery— there was no candlelight glow in any of the windows here. No late night study. No midnight wine and conversation. These people followed the rhythms of the natural world instead. Though they-

A flutter of motion, down in the shadows, caught Ashura's eye and broke her line of thought. Her hand shot to the hilt of her sword, and her eyes narrowed, watching. Whatever it was, it whisked between two huts, then zipped out a moment later; a white form with beating wings. It was paler than the moonlight, near translucent, shaped a bit like a twiggy woman with a bald head, pointed ears, and a chin sharp as diamond.

_Fairy_ was Ashura's first thought. Then the creature settled into a hover and she got a better look at the wings. _A mephit_ ; an elemental imp. Edwin was fond of summoning such creatures for menial tasks, and this one seemed almost familiar. Did that mean that he was nearby?

The creature watched her now. It drifted closer, wings beating gently, cocking its head and then straightening up. It opened its mouth. "You!" it hissed, voice squeaky. "I remembers you. Hope you don't want to-"

A shriek interrupted whatever else it was about to say. "Daemon!" That was Delainy shouting, up on the porch of the little hut. "Daemon!"

"It's okay," Ashura started to say over her shoulder (though she still clutched her sword).

The mephit closed its mouth tight, then opened it again. It began to speak-

But before it could, a brown blur streaked in from its left, lightning-fast. Red jaws and ivory teeth glinted in the moonlight, and then they snapped against the imp's neck, claws clutching and teeth tearing. An impact and a flutter, and the little creature's insubstantial body just broke apart into mist, evaporating to nothing.

The beast that had torn through the imp landed and pivoted, facing Ashura, well over six feet tall even in a crouch, with an ape's muscles and a wolf's shaggy fur and head. Its teeth ground, and it looked about with confusion, searching for the prey —the meat— that had just disintegrated in its jaws. Finding nothing that way, the beast tilted back and sniffed the air, then shook itself, a bit like a wet dog.

Ashura's sword had already slipped from its sheath, and her knees were bent, ready to spring to the side. White-hot adrenaline had burned the fogginess from her head, and the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end.

The musky scent from the creature before her was intense, and she could hear its panting —Hells, she could _feel_ its breaths; a rhythm that both brushed her cheek and rumbled through the ground and the soles of her feet. She drew in a careful breath, and the wolf looked down at her with…recognition? It closed its mouth and hid its teeth, and Ashura noticed now that, over its brown fur, it wore a loosened white loincloth, exactly like Durlyle's.

_Oh. I'm an idiot._

And with that it all clicked into place: the constant sniffing, the talk of 'pups' and 'changes' and 'belonging,' the clan venerating Malar, the dominance dances and rituals, the lack of jewelry or decorations (things that would be damaged by a transformation), and the people's clothes (cloaks, coats, and loose dresses that could be shrugged off at a moment's notice). The clan hadn't even been hiding what they were. They had just assumed that she already knew. And that she was…

Though the great wolf that stood before her had taken a passive stance, Ashura still felt her hackles rise. There was a presence behind her too. Turning, she glimpsed another upright wolf (werewolf: all the muscle and bulk of a great primate, with the sleekness and teeth of a canine hunter). The creature behind her growled out words, and Ashura tensed, instinct forcing her to turn so that she was not showing her back to either of these things. "Are there others, brother?"

The other beast glanced around. "None that I can see," it (he…Durlyle) growled. "Hard to scent. Smells like the wind."

Ashrua's teeth were bared, and she couldn't control her breaths. In and out, sharp and fast. Her guts were cold and her blood sang. Two great, hulking creatures were standing in front and behind her, all claws and teeth and animal musk and menace. And if they wanted, they could spring. Make her their quarry…

Try as she might, she couldn't slow the breaths; couldn't quash down the sense of **threat**. A tremor ran through her. Not fear; more a giddy euphoria. She leveled a gaze on one of the wolves, tensing and glaring, and somehow the hulking beast seemed to grow smaller. The entire world grew smaller, in fact; the ground rushed away, and everything turned black and silver.

She took another uncontrollable breath, and out came a deep, inhuman snarl.


	4. Challenged

_"And care for no one but the offspring of your might  
Run from the one who comes to find you  
Wait for the night that comes to hide  
Your eyes black like an animal"  
_-Chelsea Wolfe, _Feral Love_

* * *

_Well then._ It appeared that the mephit had gotten itself chomped in half after all.

Edwin couldn't help but chuckle, despite the loss (and the fact that the little creature would give him an earful when next he summoned it). The scout had served its purpose, after all. And the girl lived!

(Though apparently she was with a band of werewolves at the moment. That was a puzzle. Still, she had been walking around freely and wearing her sword. It appeared that she was in no immediate danger).

 

* * *

Awareness came and went in little flashes:

A twinge as her hand smashed through wood.

A glimmer of silver moonlight in a hooded eye, close to hers, followed by the flash of _teeth_.

A snarl, and then a pained cry, right by her ear.

Her eyes tracking a shaggy body, racing around to flank her, and something brittle cracked under her foot as she turned to follow. The shaggy thing lunged, and with the shift of shadows and the thrash of fur awareness left her once again.

For a long time there was nothing to the world but breath and motion.

A heavy smack against the earth jolted her back to conscious thought, face pressed to the ground and something heavy on top of her. She shifted, but before she could try to throw the thing off there was an explosion of dirt near her face, and tendrils lashed out from the ground, coiling around her wrists and winding tight. They yanked, and her palms were pressed against the ground.

She bucked and bridged, kicking, and in reply the _thing_ on her back roared in her ear and its claws stung her shoulders. Again and again she was smashed to the dirt.

A light flared to life in front of her, and with it came a steady call; low, yet somehow cutting through the animal noises. For the moment her thrashing slowed, and she opened her eyes wider to see.

The glow emanated from the face of a young man with sturdy features and long brown hair, close by and leaning in. His eyes were unflinching and his song wordless; a vibration rising from deep within his throat, and as he sang he cupped his hands and reached towards her.

It was a soothing sound, low and steady as stone, and when his fingers stroked her chin her blood stopped pounding in her ears, fury easing away. She caught her breath, and ceased pulling against the tendrils. The young man seemed to smile.

The light faded a bit, the world dimming down to muted colors, and everything seemed to grow a little larger. Heavier too. Ashura found herself flat on her belly against a dirt street, grit chafing her bare skin. Some sort of glowing, translucent vines were wrapped around her wrists, tethering her to the ground, and it felt like there were more of them at her ankles and her midsection.

_Oh._ And there was a massive werewolf on her back, crushing her to the dirt.

The young man continued to chant and to smile. _Durlyle._ That was his name. He wore only a loincloth, and he was kneeling and singing to her, though the song was winding down. A few paces behind him stood a young woman with similar features —Delainy— her arms raised, fingers outstretched, and brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. She was dressed in just a belted cloth. There were more figures in the shadows behind them; a few squat and human, but most tall and lanky, with the heads of wolves.

"You are calm, then?" a bestial voice rumbled in Ashura's ear. _A_ _female._ Not that you could really tell by the voice. She just knew, somehow.

_Wouldn't say that, exactly._

Durlyle ended his song. "She is," he vouched, sitting back on his haunches and rubbing his shoulder. "It was just a small…sorting scuffle."

"Sorry," Ashura managed beneath the weight, her voice raw.

The pressure lifted a bit, claws pulling away from her shoulders. "You must learn control," the female stated. At the same time Delainy relaxed as well, lowering her hands, and the conjured vines winked out of existence.

Ashura pushed her way up, rubbing her face. A human face, for now. "Yeah, guess I need to. Think there's been a misunderstanding." There was dampness on her shoulders where the female's claws had dug in, and stinging along one arm, her side, and the back of her thigh. Lots of shallow cuts.

The big female was standing now, and Ashura shambled to her feet as well. The footwraps that she had worn were long gone, but her swordbelt had somehow remained cinched and undamaged at her waist. Must have been its enchantment, adjusting to the size of the wearer. All that remained of her dress were a few tatters hanging off her shoulders or her belt.

Hazy flashes of what had happened came back to her: first the sight of Durlyle and Delainy transformed, and then…running? The snarls of others, drawn to the commotion. Lots of motion and lots of struggling.

Pieces of a shattered barrel lay nearby, and there was a carpet of smashed baskets too. The middle step at the front of one of the huts was snapped and splintered and… _ugh_ …there was a hole in another hut's wall. How long had the fight gone on? What had she done?

"Misunderstanding?" The large female cocked her head. Her coat was a magnificent silver, streaked here and there with black and gold. A lot taller than the others, too.

_Kaishas. That one's Kaishas._ Somehow Ashura just knew. "I didn't realize what your clan…was." she said. "Or that I had been…" Her hand found her shoulder. The old bite mark was a little sore, but only just.

_'Old bite mark.' Ha!_ It had only been what? A night ago? Delainy had used some healing magic, true, but perhaps the wound had _wanted_ to seal up and fade. To cover the infection beneath.

"She does not know," a voice from the crowd of onlookers boomed. "Does not understand. Does not _Belong_!" The speaker lumbered forward: a great, upright wolf, his brown fur streaked with gray. "It is as I said. She is feral. A danger to us all."

"We can all lose ourselves in the first change," Durlyle said.

"First? Bah! She is an adult. And full of fierceness." The beast drew closer, glaring. "Selaad would never have allowed this. He would be rid of this creature!"

Without thinking, Ashura had slipped her hand to the hilt of her sword and turned her body.

Kaishas stepped in. "Tailas, you do not-"

"Selaad met every possible danger with claw and with action!"

"Selaad was blind to much. And you do _not_ decide-"

Tailas puffed up and tilted his head back. "Will you _stop_ me?" There were growls of agreement behind him, and several other beasts stepped forward. Kaishas barred her teeth and leaned in, snarling at them all, but another female snarled right back, tromping in to face her.

A shrug, and Ashura's blade was free at her side.

It looked like Durlyle was about to say something, one arm raised to point and gesture, but Tailas' massive hand shot out and snatched his shoulder, shoving the boy aside. He stumbled several paces, barely keeping his feet.

Another step, and then Tailas was within springing distance. Ashura took an impatient stop towards him, pointing her sword at the werewolf’s snout. “Well?!” she snapped. Another step, and she waved the tip of the blade in his face. “Want to try me, dog?” His head bobbed back, eyes wide. _Good. Maybe a little show of strength-_

"A challenge, then?" the beast grated out through clinched teeth. He went a half-step back, but his body as all tension.

"No," Kaishas snapped. "You will not-" And then the other female leapt and collided with her, both rolling away in a tangle of fur and high-pitched sounds that pierced the night. A blink later Tailas slipped to one side and lunged as well, a blur of motion and cutting claws.

Nothing to do but react. Reflex sent Ashura springing to the side, heels tapping the dirt as she back-danced. Her sword stayed level with the pivoting beast, and muscle memory sent her offhand into position behind her back. There was no offhand blade to swing though-

_Oh. Yes._ There _was_ an offhand weapon. She clinched her fist and felt cold fire well up between her fingers.

The beast swung round and his palm whistled through the air, sailing over her head as she ducked. A squat down, and then she sprung, her sword catching the meat of his arm as it passed and drawing out a yelp. The beast shifted to claw her with his other hand, but she swung first, her empty palm leveled to his torso and lighting up with blue-white ghostfire.

The blast of necrotic energy caught him square in the chest and sent him stumbling back. A pulse between them, and then every little stinging cut across Ashura’s body closed. Soreness was replaced by a surge of strength, and as the beast shook his head with confusion Ashura shot him a fierce grin, skipping back a few paces.

Bastard wasn't staggered long. He stretched his arms out behind him, bared his teeth, and let out a slathery, undulating roar, his snout wrinkled and every muscle taut. All around them the wolves shifted, circling. Some snarled at each other, Kaishas and the other still snapped and yelped.

Ashura took a sides-stance once again, sword pointing in a mid-guard with her empty fist behind her, eyes unfocused and trying to take in every little shift the beast made. Not the first time she had found herself practically naked and facing down a threat with just one sword. Hells, the soldiers in the Flaming Fist dungeon had been far more numerous and better armed and armored than this one creature. Same with the assassins who had burst into her bedroom at the Jovial Juggler. And this creature had quite a roar, but he was nowhere near as big and strong as that ogre in the Blushing Mermaid.

Ashura grinned.

The roar hit a crescendo, the beast lunged, and she moved in time with him. They spun. One paw was dodged and then the other flew up to catch her face. It caught her blade instead, the palm neatly pierced. The force of the blow jarred her arm and sent her stumbling back, and her sword slipped from the skewered hand.

He lunged again. _Fast._

Claws raked her side as she dodged. She tried to whirl away and felt another white-hot sting across her back. The whirl turned into a leap, then a few strides running. The beast was looming there behind her –she could feel him— and then her knees struck the dirt and she rolled aside.

She felt him streak in beside her, and she turned her sword –gripped two-handed now– and stabbed. Caught him in the thigh. Deep too.

Something blurred in from the front and with a crunch to her face she tumbled over. Her back hit the dirt, her sword dripping over her and pointed at the sky. She'd managed to keep the grip. A shuffle backwards, and then she shot to her feet, snarling.

The beast was pivoting to face her, now wobbly and limping. He threw his head back for another roar, and then his claws brushed the dirt, leaning in to charge. Stepping backwards, Ashura clinched her fist, and when the creature’s feet left the ground she swung in and the ghostfire flashed between them once again, striking him as he flew.

Her slash-marks closed. His claws came at her clumsy, and she shrugged around them. Her sword stabbed into his midsection, and then their bodies collided. Jaws snapped close to her ear, their shoulders smashed together, and then she twisted away.

Once Ashura had steadied herself, she whirled around, finding Tailas crumpled on the ground a few paces away. The wolf managed to roll over, one paw pressing to the dirt while the other held his stomach, and then he whimpered. Fur receded, muscles shrank, and now he was a naked man, bleeding and haggard and crawling away.

She marched on after him, raising her sword. A stab through the kidney would likely be best-

"Do not!" That was Kaishas shouting, somewhere close behind.

Ashura slowed and glanced back. The big wolf had the female who had pounced upon her pressed to the dirt now, a hand gripping the back of the other's neck. Kaishas' coat was dusty. The other werewolf's fur was matted with her own blood, and she was panting hard. Nearby stood Durlyle and Delainy, still in human form. Ashura stopped walking when she caught their pleading looks, though she kept her sword pointed at the man's back. "He tried to kill me."

"He is beaten." Kaishas raised her chin. "Tailas! You will not bother this woman again?"

The man stopped crawling, his shoulders hunched; close to collapse. "I…" he gritted out. “I…will not, my Gan."

"Good. Go lick your wounds." Standing up straight, Kaishas lifted the female that she had crushed to the ground by the scruff of her neck and flung her forward. The female stumbled on hands and feet, her form shrinking and rippling into that of a weatherworn woman. "And you: attend to him."

"Y-yes."

"There will be no more trouble," Kaishas said; not a command, but a statement of fact.

Hand squeezing the hilt of her sword, Ashura watched the pair go, leaning on each other and assisted by several others who had moved in, all human now. Where those the ones who had roared along with Tailas?

She clinched her teeth. Chafed her to let an enemy live; they tend to come back for revenge. Hells, that's certainly what she had done to those who had crossed and failed to kill her.

That's what humans do, at least. Perhaps a pack of wolves worked different.

Kaishas had walked over, and now she shook herself and her fur and bulk evaporated. Some of the bulk, at least; even as a human –and wearing nearly nothing– she managed to be an imposing figure. "Thank you," the headwoman said, "for your restraint. You met his challenge well. And you spoke true of having…hidden strengths? I did not realize that you meant the magic of the outside, but I am impressed.” Reaching over, the big woman clapped Ashura's shoulder.“I believe you can Belong."

"Thanks," was all she could think to say. Having a choice in the matter would be nice, though this didn't seem like the time or place to mention that.

"You shall need to learn, though. I did not realize that you are so like…a pup. We will have to teach you Belonging, and quickly."

 

* * *

After that eventful night Ashura hadn't thought she'd be able to sleep, but once she hit the cot exhaustion caught up with her. Darkness followed; the rest of the dead.

Sometime in the blue of predawn she came awake again, heart thundering and drenched in cold sweat, blinking back vivid dreams. Took her a moment to sort out what was real and what wasn't; to realize that the hooded man wasn't looming over her bed, a skull's grin glinting beneath his cowl as he talked to her like a pet and stroked the top of her head.

_'You've come into your own, my dear. Like a sister of Kazgaroth…'_ All was quiet now, save Delainy's soft breathing nearby.

Sitting fully up, Ashura rubbed the spot where the man's cold fingers (father's cold fingers…) had brushed by in the dream, treating her like a prized hunting hound. (In the dream, perhaps, she had been. She remembered forests; whipping branches and darting prey). Her hand slipped down to the raised bite-mark at her shoulder.

_Hm._ Almost seemed like she could feel the wild blood humming beneath the scar. She thought to try something.

Closing her eyes, she willed, and pale light flared up between palm and shoulder. Calling up the power was easy as breathing, but sessing her way beneath the skin took a bit more concentration. Still, her mind found its way, down through sinew and veins and capillaries, and with a little probing it seemed that she could sense the wild, sleeping thing down there.

A few times in the past she had been able to use the necrotic power to rip out poisons and infections. Saved Xan's life that way, once. Lifted a bad fever that Skie had caught from the beasts beneath Ulcaster's School, too. And the power had delayed Marek's enchanted poison. Now she dug into her veins with the wisps of ghostfire, felt out the new infection, and pulled.

Nothing. It was like trying to rip off her own arm. Or…like trying to rip off her own arm, _using_ that very same arm. She let the ghostfire die down. Could almost hear Bhaal's laughter. Well, it had been worth a try.

After that she couldn't get back to sleep, but thankfully it wasn't long before Delainy and Durlyle stirred. Dressing in her old clothes, which were still a little stiff from the brine, Ashura joined them for breakfast, and then their morning chores.

 

* * *

The ruins of the _Wandering Eye_ were impressive enough, so far as dilapidated, moldering wrecks went. Large, at the least, and after all these centuries the listing hulk remained more or less solid, standing tall as a four story building. Half of the galleon's length rested on sandy soil, smothered by the branches of trees that had grown up around the stern, while the fore of the ship stretched out into the shallow waters of a lagoon. There was a great, yawning hole beneath the ship's castle deck and the cabins beneath, dark like the mouth of a cave, and the ground there was rutted and worn with many tracks. No doubt that was where the wolves came and went.

There was no activity now, under the open midmorning sky, with the sun beating down on and the sand, sea, and ruins. Wolves are nocturnal, after all, though Edwin was not about to count on the creatures being sluggish or off-guard in the daylight.

Best to settle in, watch, and wait, here at a safe distance. Probe the ruins for weak points. See if any patrols wander in or out. The spyglass made that task convenient enough, now that he had gotten used to adjusting the lenses and-

"Can I have it back?" a voice whispered, squeaky and close to his ear.

Edwin suppressed a groan. "Once I have fully assessed the ruins, yes."

"Alllrighty," Alora said, a little faux drama in her voice, "but just remember that that there farseer is mine! Was quite a lot of bother I went through to swipe it. Both times."

"You've strange ideas on property rights," Edwin grumbled, still scanning the deck of the ship. "You stole the device, sold it, then stole it from the individual you sold it to…therefor it's yours? By that logic, it would be mine by rights of snatching it from your grubby little hands." He took his eye off the glass, glancing at the halfling.

Rather than pouting or glaring, Alora flashed him a delighted little grin, showing her teeth. "Oh you do _not_ want to get in a swiping war with me, mister!"

"I can imagine. (Her pickpocketing skills are impressive enough. A shame that wolves have no pockets). I am no thief, and I've no desire to find my spell components replaced with sneezing powder at an inopportune time. So…" He handed the farseer over. With a little faux drama.

Taking the little brass device, Alora shifted over, bracing her elbows on the rock they were sitting behind and peering at the ruins. "Anyways," she eventually said, "can't you conjure up a wizard's eye or something?"

"Bah. Divination. The crutch of a mage with no skill at deductive reasoning and observation."

"More like it it's a spell he just can't do," the redheaded ship's mate piped up from her spot just behind them, a smirk on her face. "Mages, you know. Each of 'em can only fit a certain number of spells in their heads, but they all want you to think they're all-powerful."

Alora snickered and Edwin leveled what he hoped was an adequately intimidating glare at scruffy sailor.

It wasn't. She went on. "Next thing, if I know mages, he’ll threaten to turn me into a toad. But I bet ‘e ain't actually got that spell prepared neither."

" _Wizard's Eye_ was a spell I had written in my book," Dradeel muttered. "One of many."

_I will be sure to rip it out when we find the book, then. I'll conjure up one of those useless little eyes and send it spinning around the infuriating halfling's head. Although…the eyes are invisible, aren't they? Bah._

Aloud, Edwin just muttered as he turned back to the ruins: "A swine would be a more fitting polymorph for you. Though no, I do not have that spell readied _at the moment._ We go to battle with the magic that we have, not the magic that we want. (The same applies for the soldiers. Look what I have to work with: three club-wielding imbeciles, a senile mage with no spells, and a tiny piece of wolf’s bait)."

 

* * *

After the eventful night, the promise of training, the dreams, and a quick breakfast came…basket weaving.

In the bleary morning light Ashura found herself sitting on the stoop beside Durlyle, twisting and tying strands of hardened grass together. Over and under, over and under, with occasional glances at Durlyle's fingers as she tried to imitate his work. Further up on the porch knelt Delainy, stripping the leaves and flowers from a dewy bundle of plants that she had gathered.

The step just under Ashura's was splintered from last night's 'tussle,' and below that the remnants of several baskets had been piles. Across the street there was a gaping hole in the side of one of the huts.

Ashura frowned down at the wad of grass between her fingers. Didn't seem like her work was taking on much of a form yet. Bloody lot harder to smash something than to make something. "Sorry again," she said into the silence.

Down on the street a pack of children raced along, and as they giggled and went by Ashura felt their eyes upon her. Seemed half the clan had come up with an excuse to walk through over the past quarter hour. There had been a lot of cupped hands and whispering.

"No need to be sorry," Durlyle replied with his easy smile. "The blood and…instinct; it carries us all along at times."

"Yeah? Even you?"

"Not him," Delainy interjected. "He is too docile."

Durlyle snorted. "Not docile. Patient; a fisherman's patience. You mistake the two." An aside to Ashura: "Much patience is required to endure my sister."

"Do not worry overmuch," Delainy continued, ignoring her brother as she garbled her flowers, tossing them into a basket. "You've seen that the others are watching and gossiping, no? On balance, I think you impressed more than frightened. You may have heard what some of the passing men are saying."

"Yeah." 'Impressed' was one way of putting it. She had caught a few whispered words in _Auld Thorassi_ that seemed to refer to parts of her anatomy.

"Find a prominent female to cow, and you will have your pick of those men." Delainy cleared her throat, and then added: "I am…not prominent, of course."

"I'll settle for not getting ripped apart." _By a pack of werewolves._

"Yes," Durlyle said with a cringe. "It is perhaps I who should apologize. I did not realize that changing and attacking that strange creature would…draw such a response from you, but I should have thought. Dangerous for you, to be wild and lone and not yet Belonging, surrounded by the pack. There is a reason we have an isolated place for rituals."

"Yes," Delainy added. "It is a place without baskets that can be smashed. The Gan will show us there, when she arrives."

"I owe you a dress too, don't I?" Ashura said.

Delainy waved a dismissive hand. "Perhaps there will be time to repay, one day. But do not worry."

"Well, I just want you two to know that I'm grateful. You've been really kind. Fished me out of the sea. Showed me the way around here. Want to repay if I can."

"That is a simple matter," Durlyle said. "Tell us more of your eastern lands. As you did by the fireside last night."

"What do you want to know?"

"Hm. Oh. There was one thing I neglected to ask, when you spoke of the creatures you have faced? Basilisks and oni and sirines…fascinating! But have you ever seen one of the great, winged reptiles?"

"Uh? Dragons? No." A pause as she thought on it. Wyverns _sort of_ counted, didn't they? And there was that… "Oh! Actually, I did meet the ghost of a dragon once. In the crypts under my old home. It's…a long story."

Durlyle's eyes widened, and Delainy looked over from her plants, head cocked and now curious as well. Seemed like a 'long story' wouldn't bother them in the least. "Well?" Durlyle prompted.

"Hm. Where to begin?" She drew in a long breath. "Well, I had this brother, who wanted to kill me. A matter of inheritance, I guess you could say."

They gave her blank looks.

"Uh. He thought I might be a challenge to his…leading our pack. Anyway, I didn't even know I had a brother, but he decided to kill me. And then one night he…"

 

* * *

Beyond the parted curtains and the folded wall lay a secret passageway, its dirt floor sloping sharply into darkness that the ambient light of the hut couldn't penetrate. Durlyle lit a torch and stepped inside. "Follow," he said, so Ashura did, with Kaishas and Delainy close behind. The temperature dropped noticeably as they descended.

There were no wooden braces here; it appeared to be a sturdy and natural cave, the cool stone walls close by and the smell of damp earth hanging in the air. As Ashura followed she sniffed a bit more, catching some sort of curious tang. Spelled like…something old, long past rot? This keen new sense of smell was going to take some getting used to.

"This den was once our home," Durlyle's voice echoed as he led the way through the twisting tunnels, his torch bobbing along. The path slanted ever downward, he bent a little at the tighter spots and twisted with the tunnel, and the fact that there was only a narrow cloth covering his impressively square backside made for an…interesting view as they went.

"It was our people's first shelter," he continued, "before the huts and walls." Ahead, a wider cavern opened up, the floor well-tramped. Fragments of old animal bones lined the walls, and there were several branching passageways. "Later, it was customary to come down here during the time of the full moon, for the day and night that the great-grandmothers and grandfathers spent as full-fledged beasts. We do not do that anymore, but still, this is the place where the young are taken for rites."

Ashura nodded.

"To walk among us," Kaishas added. "You must Belong. It is simple enough." As if that explained everything.

"Oh?" Ashura prompted.

"Belonging." She thought a moment. "To never be alone, but always move together. Back and forth, give and take. Hm. It is something best shown." She grinned. "And best shown here, away from fragile objects." She shot Durlyle a look, and without ceremony he shook his torch and it went out, plunging them into darkness.

Tensing, Ashura reached for her sword without thinking. They had not forbidden the weapon, or even commented on it. _Werewolves can see in the dark._

There were no growls or threatening noises, though. Instead came a sound of shifting and rustling from Ashura's companions. "Those clothes are your own," Delainy said, somewhere to Ashura's left, "but I hope you do not intend to destroy them?"

The flutterings ceased, and then there was a faint scratching on the floor. The temperature seemed to grow, and there was a sudden pressure in the air, along with a musky scent. Ashura was blind as a bat, but she could feel the looming presence of the beasts beside her, and realized what had happened: they had casually shrugged their clothes off and transformed in the space of a few breathes.

She hastened to follow, discarding her fingerless gloves, tugging at her belt, and stepping out of her boots ( _would hate to lose control and tear those up_ ), then peeled her outer and then inner shirt away ( _guess we're just tossing things on the cavern floor?_ ), and finally wriggled out of her trousers, kicked them aside to…

…stand there –naked in the chill, damp dark– for a long, awkward moment. _Uh._

Durlyle spoke up, his voice deeper now. "It is simple enough to change. Listen to your blood."

_Simple. Yeah._ Then again, maybe it wasn't that different from calling up the ghostfire. She drew in a deep breath, let her arms rest at her side, and willed whatever it was that slept in her blood up from the depths.

And whatever it was, it obeyed. A tremble, and then muscled swelled and stretched, her skin tickling with the sudden presence of fur. Toes stretched as well, claws extending to scrape the dirt, and the world grew smaller. Softer too. There was this heady feeling, like she could run the length and breadth of the cavern in a flash, and then the whole island.

Everything looked different: the crags of the cave wall now lit up in sharp silver. Sounded different too: every crunch of dirt and drip of water echoed in her ears. Her breath drew in a thousand varied scents: tangy, rank, rich, briny, gritty, and from somewhere distant she even caught a whiff of flowers blooming.

Now that she could see in the dark, she realized that she'd been mistaken. There were two werewolves beside her, but for whatever reason Delainy had disrobed but not yet transformed. Instead, the shamaness straightened, raised her arms, and began to chant in a strange language of grunts and growls.

The cavern lit with dancing fireflies, encircling Delainy's fingers and growing in intensity with each syllable, and as they swirled, a second glow appeared a few paces ahead of her; a faint circle of light. At the height of the spell (the words, lights, and gestures were similar to those Faldorn had used), Delainy switched to _Auld Thorassi._ " _Great Hunter, send us a beast worthy of the chase._ "

A breeze wafted through the cavern, carrying the scent of autumn leaves and sunlight, and then from the circle a shape arose, climbing with grace up onto four legs. The animal stretched and shook itself, its coat thick and bushy and its antlers nearly scraping the ceiling. Its ears fluttered, its dark, gleaming eyes flicked over the wolves crouching behind it, and then with a snort and a toss of its head the massive hart took off, bounding for the nearest tunnel.

Ashura was not aware that she had started after it; the stone walls simply raced by her now, wind assailing her nostrils and filling them with the scent of fleeing prey. Her forepaws struck the dirt, leaning in and running full speed, and she could feel the other creatures racing with her; sense every twitch and turn of the pack.

The cave flew by. Ahead: the scuff and stamp of hooves. Beside her: the other two, moving in rythmn, with the third female a bit behind, racing to catch up. They entered a wider tunnel and spanned out, breathing steady and pounding their feet and claws against the ground, eating the distance.

A glimpse of the hart. Then the tunnel twisted and it disappeared again. She pushed past, and there was the prey's flank ahead of her. Nearer. Nearer. Nearer.

A few more breathes, and then the panicked creature was close enough to taste. It tried to veer away, but one of the others slipped in and snapped his jaws close to its side. The hart careened the other way, lost its balance and its grace, and then she was close enough to overtake it. Jaws wide, she _flew_.

Something shaggy crossed her vision as she went –one of the others, further ahead. Its teeth clamped onto the hart's long neck and its claws snatched at the creature's shoulder, drawing a cry and filling the air with the iron tang of blood. Then she was biting down too, teeth latching onto the hart's flank. A frenzy of motion; pulling jaws, flaying claws, snorts and screaming and…

…and then, to her shock, the smell and taste of blood just winked out of existence, the weight and heft of their prey going with it. There was a taste of sunlight and autumn's golden rot instead, for an instant, and then it was all gone. Stolen.

Stumbling and struggling for balance, she found herself facing the beast who had bitten down first; the one who had tugged at the struggling prey between them. Another female, and a tall one.

With a growl of annoyance, Ashura's paw shot out to swipe at that female. Competitor. Thief!

Her claws cut through fur. An angry snarl followed from the big female, her teeth bared. Ashura barreled in and lashed out with both hands now, and the world turned upside down in a frenzy of slather and motion. Twinges and pain, and then there was a heavy impact.

The earth pressed against Ashura's face, the other female roared in her ear, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thought: _familiar._ And just like before, she twisted and struggled for leverage.

Just ahead, two others were leaning down, one female, with her teeth barred and her claws splayed out, and a male, with a strange look in his eyes. Cautious? Curious? A little sad? She knew those eyes, too. She knew him.

Ashura stopped struggling. For a long moment, they all stayed in those positions, the big female's teeth near her ear and all four of them heaving in breathes. Then the weight receded and the big female –Kaishas– pushed off and away.

Rolling a bit, Ashura stood. "Sorry," she rumbled in a voice that sounded strange to her ears.

"You are strong," Kaishas growled. In these forms all of their voices were uniformly deep. "But I am stronger. And the purpose of this exercise is not to challenge. It is to belong."

Ashura's head bobbed. "Sorry," she repeated. "It was confusing." As least she felt a bit more in control now. For the moment.

"It is, yes. But you will learn. We are not lone beasts. We must be one." Kaishas' head turned toward Delainy, and in response the other female shook herself, shedding her shaggy form and slipping down to normal. Without prompting, Deilany then drew in a breath, raised her hands, and began a second summons. Seemed they were going to do this for as long as it took.


	5. Played

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine most readers understand this, but I just wanted to point out that a lot of the descriptions of various characters in this fic are colored by the perspective of the PoV characters, and…well, Edwin's an asshole. I actually wrote passages where he gains a little respect for the sailors and starts calling them by their real names, but it just felt out of character.

_"In some ways, the omega is like the court jester. He must suffer terrible abuse at the hands of the king and court, but he is undeniably loved. Like a jester, the omega is often the one to instigate play and act the fool."_ -Jamie Dutcher, _Omega_ , from the website _Living with Wolves_

* * *

  **5 – Played**

The boar slid flank-first into the adjacent tunnel, recovering before it could overbalance or trip, and Ashura raced to keep up, claws in the lead. A glancing blow off her prey's hindquarters, and then the animal managed to stutter into a full run.

Now Ashura was the one skidding. Her foot hit the wall, and she rebounded, loping along behind the boar and picking up speed. Dirt tore between her claws, eyes fixed on the fleeing creature as the distance closed between them. Closer. Closer. Closer. White light framed the boar now, the tunnel’s end fast approaching.

Beyond the musky scent of terror and the slick cold of the stone walls, Ashura's nostrils picked up other smells: brine, sunlight, moss and gull shit and growing plants. The boar reached the tunnel's threshold. At Ashura's side she sensed one of her packmates, running shoulder-to-shoulder with her. They raced for the light.

The boar burst through, out into the sun, and up ahead a shaggy form streaked in, blindsiding the animal. The third wolf struck the razorback on the shoulder, sending the bulk of the thing twisting away and spinning, hooves churning up sandy soil as it tried to stay upright. The rear of the boar struck a big, moss-covered bolder, and it managed to settle there, bracing its legs to take a defensive stance.

Ashura skidded and turned, finding herself between the two packmates now. There was no thought to it; they just adjusted and moved as one, facing their prey. The boar had lowered its head, and now it snorted and threw them a glare.

Boars: they turn and fight.

Wolves: they spread out, surrounding as best they can, and the little pack of three did just that, the male beside Ashura circling right while the other female stepped left. Ashura remained eye-to-eye with the razorback, and the beast snorted at her again. She snarled right back.

The male wolf eased in closer and the boar twisted and bucked, slashing the air with its tusks. Ashura closed too, to catch its attention, and got it. The boar's head lowered, intent to charge and gore.

Ashura charged first, paws out as she sprang. The boar's head twisted. She followed, caught it by the tusks, and gripped as hard as she could. There was a high squeal, the breath of the animal striking her snout, the head and mane of the thing shaking; trying to throw her off.

A second squeal, as the jaws of the other wolves ( _…the twins…_ ) clamped down on fur and flesh, pressing in from both sides. Everything became a whirlwind of hair and surging muscle, and then a heavy shape dropped from the top of the rock itself and landed square on the boar's back, the weight and force of the blow dropping the animal flat.

Kaishas clamped her jaws against the back of the boar's neck, it collapsed completely, and the heady scent of blood filled Ashura's nostrils. A giddy moment: the frenzy —the kill— the thrum of adrenaline and the promise of blood and meat.

But then the summoned animal just collapsed into weightless dust, the smell and heft of the prey instantly…gone.

Disappointing, though at least this time Ashura managed to shake herself and straighten up, blinking in the midday light. They stood on a narrow spit of sand, surrounded by worn down rocks and lapping waters. Beyond the raised ground sounded the crash of heavier surf.

_What next?_ Another conjured creature from the Beastlands? Another hunt?

No. Kaishas tossed her head to the side, gesturing towards the rising land, and then she was off, the others hurrying to follow. They veered between damp rocks, across a sandy spar, and then they were scrambling and leaping up a slope. Ashura climbed, right behind Kaishas now, her claws finding purchase in the soil and the roots of sprouting sea oats.

A switchback, then up again. One final leap and scramble brought them to a level span, where they roared through wild grass and sunlight. In the distant haze across the plateau the tops of trees were visible, and nearer stood a field of plants sprint with brilliant blue flowers.

Kaishas reared up and slowed just short of the thicket, turning to leap up onto a low, vine-choked rock. She wheeled around, tongue lolling out and clearly out of breath. Ashura stopped beside the rock, and a moment later the other two ambled up behind her.

The air up here was thick with the smell of blooming; enough to wet Ashura's eyes and make her blink, head spinning. Her knuckles pressed against the earth, leaning forward, and she found herself nodding, vision fuzzy and every scent (dirt, sea, sun, flowers, plants, distant trees, the starchy feathers of the birds that wheeled above them and the musk of her companions) weaving and blurring together. The thrum of her pulse –thundering all this time in her ears– abated, and she sank down more and more, tension she had not been aware of seeping out until she found herself kneeling the grass, the fur and speed and fury all gone.

Her body —smaller now, and more sensitive to the cool ocean wind— quivered for a moment, and she fought to steady herself and blink away the blurriness. Durlyle and Delainy had shifted back as well, both looking serene and not wearing a stitch, knee deep in flowers. Above them, Kaishas still wore her silver and gold-striped fur.

"The scent of these flowers is soothing, no?" asked Durlyle, gesturing about. "If the blood churns too furious, this is a good place to come and ease it away."

Ashura gave him a bleary nod, still in a fugue. Lethargy followed the hunt, it seemed. Or maybe it was the flowers. Though that didn't stop her from glancing down and taking note of what he had been hiding beneath the loincloth. Had been easy enough to guess at his proportions down there, what with the cloth either swishing about or tied up tight. Still. An interesting sight.

"Yes," Kaishas said. "Settling back can be a challenge. Even for one who has changed again and again, there may come a time when the blood carries you away." She shook herself, fur rustling and then receding; smoothing out until she was a tall, weathered and muscular woman once more. With a little bound she dropped to the grass.

"The cave is another place you might go to settle," Delainy added. "A place to curl up and sleep."

"And bringing down prey is the surest way to quiet the restless blood," Kaishas said. "But…" She turned, her eyes encompassing the forest beyond the ridge. "There is no prey here to be had. Not a single squirrel stirs in that wood, nor a rat, or even a mole. It has been picked completely of game by the feral beasts, and that is the reason that we _must_ leave this place. We are not starving, between the gardens and the bounty of the sea, but that alone cannot sustain what we are."

Ashura nodded. "You need to hunt something that doesn't turn to fairy dust and disappear when you bite down."

"Just so. In your eastern lands there are forests teaming with game, no? Taloun has told us. We must sail there, and soon."

 

 

 

* * *

Once again Edwin peered through the lens of the farseer, scanning the churned soil just beneath the hull of the _Wandering Eye._ There was little sign of the pack that laid claim to these woods; over the course of the morning they had sent out what one might characterize as 'patrols,' loping along and stopping incessantly to mark their territory at every tree and bush, but as the day wore on the wolves grew fewer, and sluggish.

Now, in the heat of the day, it appeared that he pack slept in its den. The woods were still and quiet.

_Er._ Still and quiet, that is, save the faint shaking in the branches where some trees loomed close to the ruins of the ship. Edwin adjusted the farseer, peering up, and behind him he felt Ratface tense. Behind her, the others held their collective breaths (save the elf, of course, who just sat there calm as ever, cross-legged and glowering off).

Wings beat and shook the treetops, a flock of birds cawing in irritation and flying away. Edwin cringed as he watched. _Ugh._ This preposterous excuse for a plan…

_'Can you make me all invisible? Nothin' enhances thiefin' like a good old invisibility!'_

_'As I am no thief (or carnival showman) I have never bothered with such insubstantial magics. So, no.'_

And, as Dradeel had pointed out, invisibility would do nothing to hide a scout from the keen senses of the pack. _'Selune's veil did me no good, the times that I tried to slip into the ruins.'_

Branches shook in a regular pattern, progressing from one tree to the next and then the next, closer and closer to the deck of the ship. Along with the rustling, there were flashes of royal purple, violet hair, and ruddy skin.

_'Aww. So you can't do illusions Eddy? How about tranmutin'? I once heard of this cloak that could turn a person into a wolf. Think it was hidden in a pirate's cove. Maybe if you-'_

_'No. That is a simple enough spell —and I admit that a disguise is not a bad idea on its face— but think girl: would wolves be any less hostile to a strange dog, rather than a strange halfling? They would attack, regardless.'_

_'Well blast and bother. Gettin' around those keen noses sure is a tough proposition. Someone aught'a invent a spell that makes a body unsmellable, if no one's done that already.'_

_'And then cast it on Vicail!'_

_'Ya, ya. You always smell o'roses, Wenda.'_

_'In any case. Alora: surely, having burgled your share of estates and such, you have had to deal with watchdogs in the past. What was your strategy?'_

_'Oh. That's easy! Slip the doggies some meat. A steak or a pork chop. Oldest trick in the book.'_

_'Hm. Some promise there.'_

_'Uh…you're not thinking of using one of us as bait…'_

_'Oh, quiet woman. Lest you forget, I am a conjurer.'_

As the branches rustled above the ship, a great, bristly form pushed its way through the underbrush. Here came the proverbial 'pork chop,' in all its conjured and infernal glory, with gleaming obsidian tusks, needle-spikes along the ridge of its back, and fire-yellow eyes that simmered like windows into the inferno. The massive boar picked up speed as it charged for the opening in the ship's hull. Barks and snarls sounded from within.

Bucking, the hell-spawned pig stopped just short of the ruins, throwing its mane about and snorting out a plume of smoke. In answer, the cry of the dogs grew shrill, and up above, unseen by the creatures, Alora leapt to another branch and swung on top of it, crouching like a monkey. With an easy spring, the girl hopped to the uppermost deck of the ship.

By then the boar had turned completely, lowered is head, and begun to charge away, picking up speed until it was thundering across the forest floor, the wolves bursting from their lair to give chase. _Two…four…eight…_ there were at least eleven worgs in the pack, along with four of the upright creatures. _Hm_. An impressive number, but there would still be some left inside the ruins, guarding. These beasts were irritatingly clever.

Edwin aimed the spyglass at the spot where Alora had landed, but she was already gone, perhaps exploring further along the deck, or even inside already. A quick girl, though hopefully she would display a degree of caution as well.

_'I'll rub my lucky rabbit's foot extra hard before we start. Promise!'_

Next, Edwin looked to the forest, the tails of the last few worgs already swishing from sight. Acting as bait was _not_ a use he had ever expected to put to a creature from the Nine Hells, though ideally it would prove a bit more than that. Boars turn and fight when they are cornered, after all, and this creature was an order of magnitude stronger than your typical pig.

The barks grew distant, and for a time the forest fell silent, the waves lapping and the moments ticking by. Eventually, Edwin spotted more motion at the ship, down by the opening. A werewolf (or wolfwere or whatever you wish to call them) came slinking through the gap, bent to the ground and sniffing. Ears pricked, the beast made its way along the beach, and the sailors behind Edwin began to shift with discomfort, clutching their sad excuses for weapons (nail-spiked clubs and an old pickax) tight.

A peal of barks and snarls from the ship drew the wolf's attention long before it could spot their hiding place, however, and it whirled and raced back to the opening, disappearing. A long stretch followed, no sounds now save the crashing waves and a little muffled noise from the ruins, and Edwin found himself grinding his teeth and fiddling with one of his wands.

Irritating. He would have almost preferred dealing with the werewolf. How would they even know if Alora had been eaten?

Eventually, a tiny blob of distinctive violet popped up on the deck. An instant of relief, and then shaggy forms exploded from the floor just behind Alora, clawing the air and trying to snatch her. She bobbed and zipped aside, tumbling, and Edwin cringed, powerless at this distance.

_Bah!_ Well, if Alora survived and followed their plan, there was one thing he would be able to do, shortly. Setting the spyglass aside, he looked to the water, stretched out his fingers, and began to chant.

Up top, Alora managed to roll away from her pursuers, hop onto the railing at the ship's forecastle, and run along the narrow, rotting wood. At the highest point she could reach, she put her hands together and leapt, bending into a swan dive and dropping to water far below.

The pair of werewolves behind her hesitated, leaning over the railing to watch the splash. Then, one at a time, they climbed past, glanced at each other, and jumped to follow.

Bobbing to the surface, Alora turned and started kicking and chopping at the water; a rather adept breaststroke, all told. She had a head start on the wolves, but once they surfaced and began to paddle they proved to be stronger swimmers. The gap between them started to shrink.

And then Edwin's spell reached its terminus and that gap exploded with foam, a black shark's fin half the height of a man bursting from the waters. Waves swept Alora forward, the fin swiveled, and then it zipped straight for the wolves. Skin the color and consistency of volcanic rock broke the surface, surging forward, the shark's tail churning up water and froth.

Arms crossed at his chest, Edwin watched the chaos unfold, and grinned. A hell-spawned boar for a decoy, and now a hell-spawned shark for the surprise ambush, all impeccably timed. _'I am a conjurer after all.'_ And that fat cow of a ship's mate had doubted the plan! (Well, perhaps Edwin had doubted a bit as well, but still…)

A little ways up the beach, Alora managed to crawl onto the sand and climb to her feet, then she raced towards Edwin and the others as fast as she could. Edwin followed through with one last spell, once she had reached them, summoning a wall of jagged, smoking ice to block the beach and cover their escape. That done, they all turned and beat a retreat down the coast.

Dradeel was the first to break the silence as they huffed along. "The spellbook?" he demanded. "Please tell me you found it."

Panting and jogging, Alora turned and nodded vigorously. A few strides later they all began to slow, and she was the first to stop, hands on her knees.

The old elf reached out to the halfling, fumbling at the front of her clothes. "Where? Where?!"

"Hey!" Alora wriggled back. "No getting handsy!" She reached into the folds of her vest and blouse, producing a little satchel and then a wrinkled, hidebound tome from inside that. "Have some patience, will ya? Anyways, I found this book…"

Rather than bending down to snatch it, Dradeel just froze in place, his eyes widening. He began to twitch. Then twitch some more. It appeared that he was on the verge of an aneurysm. "That…" he blubbered. ”What cruel gods..?"

Pursing her lips, Alora shook the book a bit and stretched her arms out, offering it up.

"My spellbook is half that size, with a cover of woven dreamgrass, dyed an amber hue. I told you that!"

"Oh." Alora drew back, giving the object between her paws a guilty look. "Well, it was the first book I spotted. Was in a hurry too, what with the werewolves sniffing and all that." She cocked her head and peered at the cover. "What does dreamgrass even look like, anyways?"

Edwin snorted. "Illiterate thieves." He recalled a similar experience himself, with a certain pink burglar and a tower in Baldur's Gate. That had at least ended as a profitable venture. _Hm._ Reaching down, he took the tome from Alora, examining it closer. His eyes widened. "Do you realize what this-"

"It is Balduran's journal," Dradeel grumbled. "Fat lot of good that does us."

Alora whistled. "Ooo! But I bet it's worth a pretty copper. This is the sorta thing they put in museums. Yer not thinking of keeping it all to yourself, are you mister-"

Edwin shoved the book back into the girl's hands. "Here. (As if paltry Heartlander gold concerns me)." He gestured down the beach. "Let's get moving. A pack of wolves may be on our trail at any moment. We can sort out party 'loot' in the safety of the cabin."

The others followed, Alora keeping pace at his side. Perhaps a quarter mile later, as they turned and took a forest trail, Edwin glanced over to the halfling again. "Did your sticky fingers pry any other useful bits from the ruins? (Too optimistic, to hope that she found some magic wands)."

"Ya, no wands I'm afraid. There was this poor guy all beat up and chained in the captain's cabin, but the wolves came up when I started fiddling with his cuffs. Such a shame." She brightened. " _But_ I did manage to snatch all sorts'a cutlery! There was some well-preserved silver in the drawer where I found the book, and some of them even have these fine pewter handles! See!" She peeled her satchel open, revealing several forks and spoons, along with a dull little knife.

" _The Butter Knife of Balduran_?" Edwin deadpanned. "I am sure someone will pay a mountain of gold for that."

Alora didn't seem to catch the sarcasm. "They sure will!"

 

 

 

* * *

The sun was setting, and once again the drums beat steady and the flutes whistled along. Seemed that the clan liked their music and their dancing most every evening, even if there was no feast.

There was an air of informality to the circle between the communal fires tonight, and this time it was pairs of women who circled each other, mirroring and trying to out-maneuver their opponents. Their motions were easy and practiced, a smidge less sharp and frenetic than the competitions of the men. Looked more like they were trying to mock and tease, rather than knock each other over.

"Dancing's a bit different where I'm from," Ashura said, reclining against one of the logs.

"How so?" asked Durlyle.

"For one thing, the men and women are usually partnered up. And there's no contest between them."

"Oh? What is the point then? How does it end, if no one can be the victor?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Not like she was much of an expert on dancing. She had grown up around monks and bookish priests, after all. "Eh. It goes on until the song ends and everyone's tired. And the point is to have fun, I guess."

"Perhaps you could demonstrate?"

"Uh." Of all the roles she had played or expected to, cultural ambassador and dance instructor sure wasn't one of them. Still, she straightened and stood. "I'm not the best authority. My friend Skie, now she could show you some pirouettes and fancy moves. Guess I know a jig or two, though." She reached out, and when the boy just gave her a curious look she said: "Take my hand."

He did, rising as well. Fingers entwined, she stretched their arms out and placed her other hand on his side, above the hip. "You do the same. Stand like I do." She paused, glancing over her shoulder as the others gave them curious looks. "Oh. We're not um…violating the sacred tenants of your culture here, right?"

Durlyle chuckled. "No. No. The ritual is not a sacred thing. More of…play."

"Good. Alright, now step back and as I step forward…woops, sorry." He just laughed again, not bothered that she had stepped on his foot. "And turn when I turn, and now we're going to sway like this. Yeah. Of course we're moving a bit slower than the beat, but we can pick it up once you get the hang of things." Gradually, they began to sway and spin around the patch of dirt.

"Ah. I see," Delainy called from her place beside the fire. "It is like the courtship movements of birds."

"Pretty much." Ashura spun her partner again. "Doesn't have to be courtship though," she added, not wanting to make the young man (marvelously solid and bare chested and in close proximity and all) feel put-upon. "Used to spin around the taproom with my sister all the time, when we were kids and a bard was visiting. Just for a laugh and the fun of it."

And so they spun and laughed, and after a time some of the more adventurous villagers partnered up and began to imitate. Within a few minutes they had a bit of a large, disorganized waltz going, and then when that dissolved and the villagers started peppering Ashura with questions, she proposed another dance, lining the men on one side of the square and the women on the other.

The drummers put their heads together, starting a new song at a brisk pace, and in time the lines marched together, breaking into couples, swinging, breaking, and merging again and again. March, meet, swing, turn. Predictably, it dissolved into chaos a few times before they really got the hang of things, laughing all the while.

 

 

 

* * *

Twilight was setting in now, the open sky dimming from faint gold to pale silver-black, though a single band of wavering clouds held on to the pink of sunset. Down below, the wolves circled.

They slinked along, slow and aimless at the periphery of the great meadow, eying the cabin as they went, and among them the werewolves stood upright and sentinel, glaring across the band of flowers that they had not yet attempted to cross.

Leaning against the frame of the cabin's doorway, Edwin glared right back, arms crossed. An impasse. After their lair had been poked, it seemed that the pack was intent on striking back. And laying siege.

"Maybe they'll get bored," Shar-Teel muttered. She looked a bit stiff, but was at least dressed in her tattered armor now, sword at her belt and patta blade attached to her lame offhand. Instead of the usual pigtails, her hair was a ruffled mess. Beside her, the rat-faced sailor leaned against the wall, brandishing her pickax and watching the wolves. The others had chosen to hide inside the cabin.

"Least we've got enough 'vegetable surprise' to last a lifetime,” Ratface said.

"I don't have the patience for a tenday of those, let alone a lifetime," Edwin replied. "This is an irritating distraction."

"Damn right," Shar-Teel grunted. "Let's just cut our losses and 'port back to Beregost then? The mountain passes will be clear. Easy enough to hoof it down to Amn, if you still want to go there."

Edwin shook his head. "Not without the girl."

"You gettin' all romantic, huh? You can sense her out there or..?"

"No. She has been spotted. In a village on the south end of the island, populated with werewolves that appear a bit more civilized than this lot, though possibly still dangerous. We should have simply sought them out today and abandoned the hermit, but I judged that he would be useful to us with a head full of spells. A…miscalculation."

"Oh. Ash is alive then? Well. Shit." She spat on the ground and changed the subject. "Don't suppose you at least took a few of the creatures out when you kicked the hornet's nest?"

"The worgs are trivial enough, but the bipedal ones have proven…frustrating. We have at least learned a few things, however. I estimate that there are between eight and ten wolfweres in the pack, total. A relatively small number."

"Don't mean much if we can't kill a single one."

"Then perhaps a different approach is needed. These are intelligent creatures after all; capable of speech. Perhaps some arrangement can be made." He stepped forward, starting towards the flower rows.

Shar-Teel snickered. "Ha! Worth a try I guess. Couldn't think of a better fellow than you to send on a diplomatic mission, either."

Rolling his eyes, Edwin approached the wolfsbane garden, and as he did so every animal turned and began to converge, eyes and snouts facing his way. Perhaps he should have felt intimidated, but the layers of protective magic (the _stoneskin contingency_ , his shielding spells, and —if all else failed— teleportation) added confidence to his strides. His evocations could not harm the wolfweres, true, but their claws could not harm him.

One of the creatures took the lead (pack animals and all of that) and looked Edwin in the eye as they both stopped just short of the flowers. Edwin addressed the beast. "You. Wolf. This endless nipping at each other grows tiresome, does it not?"

The creature shook its coat, fur rippling away to be replaced by flesh. Er. To some extent, at least; even in his human form the man wore a shaggy beard and was covered from neck to toe in thick black hair. A pair of pants would have made a nice edition, as far as wearing things went. Edwin tried to keep his eyes level with those of the nonchalantly nude man.

"I grow bored, certainly," the wolf-turned-man growled out. "Waiting on cowards who hide behind flowers. Step across, and we might end this." Two other wolfweres had shambled in a few strides behind him, and now they shifted as well, becoming a man and a woman.

_Hm._ Edwin recognized the woman too: the first of the creatures that they had encountered, pretending to be a damsel in distress. She made for a more pleasant place to rest his eyes as well, curvaceous and somewhat soft and a bit less fuzzy than the others…

_Oh_. But were the wolves trying to get him to ogle? A distraction? Edwin tried (…tried…) to look back to the leader and keep his focus there. "Foolish posturing aside," he said, "what is 'this' even supposed to be? Your pack attacked us the moment we set foot on this island."

The wolf-turned-man scoffed. "And you killed many of our four-legs. And attacked our den." Behind him, the other two shared a glance, and then tossed their heads back. Human though they appeared, they both let out a long, low, harmonizing howl.

_Charming._

"Though," the lead wolf continued, "perhaps we should thank you as well, for providing us with the ships. They will be put to good use."

_Bah._ Did these fools think that the abandoned lifeboats were seaworthy? Good. Maybe they would all drown.

The keening of the man and woman had become a sort of slow, ambling song, emphasis shifting back and forth between their voices as they wafted in and out of harmony. As they sang their shoulders swayed.

Oblivious to the singing, the lead wolf spoke on. "Now, perhaps if you provide us with your meatiest, then we can call things even and leave you to hide behind your flowers."

There was a faint tickle against Edwin's forehead, beneath his circlet; a sure sign that it was repelling some enchantment. _Ah, so that's the game is it?_ He recalled reading something in a bestiary about the wolfwere's famed song of lethargy, used to lull their pray. The book had also mentioned wolfsbane, and that the leader of a wolfwere pack would likely be strong enough to resist the warding plant.

So, they were to be sung to sleep, then this creature would leap the rows of flowers and attack? Edwin feigned a yawn, blinking and nodding. Two can play the lulling game. And a simple _haste_ spell would jolt Shar-Teel and the others out of their fugue.

Trying to sound sleepy, Edwin kept the wolf talking. "I've a counter-proposal. Your clan is in poor shape, obviously, and I am willing to wager that the village to the south has something to do with that. They are your enemies, no?"

"They are."

"They inconvenience me as well, holding someone captive who I wish to retrieve. Just imagine. Rather than this pointless sniping, we ally against them, then go our separate ways once the village has been razed?" Not an entirely serious suggestion; more a tactic to pass the time and keep the wolf distracted. The order of Edwin's spells, when the wolf inevitably attacked, would be far more important than any 'deals.'

The wolf-turned-man tilted his head, seeming to genuinely consider. Then he grinned. "An interesting thought, man of red and gold. But it matters not. I cannot make any sortsf of 'bargains' with you. I do not lead this pack, after all." His smile grew supremely smug, and before Edwin could question or probe there was a great cracking noise behind him.

_Blast!_ He whirled. _Blast! Blast! Blast!_

The cabin's door had burst off its hinges, and through the opening a sleek white wolfwere bounded, the ship's mate limp and bound up in the creature's arms, red hair waving as her head bobbed. Leaping past a dozing Shar-Teel and Ratface, the creature veered and raced, and it was followed by a second beast; an ancient, scarred, grizzled thing that carried the big Chultan cook over its shoulder like a sack.

The 'spokesman' had been a diversion, while the pair of alpha wolves had snuck by, and Edwin had fallen for it! _Outplayed by a pack of dogs!_ If word of this ever got back to Surthay…well, best not to think on that.

Instead, Edwin rattled out the words of the spell he had been preparing, quick as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this fic? Hate this fic? Either way, feel free to leave a review. Short reviews, long reviews, carefully written or drunkenly texted from a smartphone; all reviews are welcome!
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that each chapter opens with a quote from random sources vaguely related to wolves or werewolves. I welcome any suggestions on that front, if any readers out there can think of more wolfish quotes.


	6. Stolen

_"We took you right from your mother's womb,  
Our temple - your tomb"  
_-Fever Ray, _The Wolf_

* * *

At the final syllable of his spell Edwin's hands shot up and the air rippled, washing over the sailors in the arms of the beasts, then out to the nodding figure of Ratface and the dozing Shar-Teel at her side. All at once they shivered awake and shot to their feet, everyone who Edwin chose to lay his focus upon practically quivering with _haste._

Everyone but the redheaded woman, that is. She didn't stir, hanging in the arms of the lead wolf, head bobbing and bent at an awkward angle that displayed deep bruises on the side of her neck ( _A broken neck. Blast!_ ) The wolf that carried her had already reached the edge of the flowerbed, and with a tremble it leaned in and leapt to the far side.

The gray wolf wasn't faring nearly as well, however: the ship's cook splayed over its shoulder had come to flailing and screaming, balling up his fists now to beat against the creature's shoulder. The cook had never shown himself to be any sort of warrior, but he was heavy and strong enough to make his captor lurch.

_Heavy and strong. Let's exploit that._ Edwin extended a finger, focused, and rasped out his next spell.

There was an absurd sort of creaking sound as the air wavered around the wolf and its captive, and then the cook swelled and expanded, legs stretching and shoulders widening to the proportions of a giant. Fists that had been meekly tapping now pounded the wolf like a sledge. A _hastened_ sledge at that.

Battered and smothered under the oversized and overbalanced man, the gray beast made an effort to lumber another step, failed, and then slipped to the ground, the cook dropping on top of it with the force of a falling ogre.

A comical sight, at least until the yelp from the wolf turned into a furious snarl and its thrashing sent the enlarged cook rolling off and away with a howl of pain, clutching at a bleeding arm. Seemed this was no easily crushed Thayvian lapdog (…one of Edwin's aunts had owned this most irritating creature that he always worried about accidentally squashing…) No, the wolf was on its feet in an instant and the giant cook was furrowing the grass with his giant arse, scrambling away as fast as he could.

The _enlargement_ spell had been readied with Shar-Teel in mind, and no doubt a double-sized Shar- Teel would have been a ferocious sight, but the cook just appeared to be a cowering giant, and the wolf smelled fear. With every claw and tooth bared, it stalked forward, knees bent and a low snarl issuing from its throat.

Then that snarl was drowned out by a high, nasal wail as a bony shape with dreadlocked hair streaked in from the right, hefting a pickax. Ratface was a _hasted_ blur as she bent in low and put a full-bodied twist into her swing, connecting with the back of the gray wolf's thigh and making the creature yelp. The wolf even stumbled, blood splattering the grass, and then it spun and surged in Ratface's direction, forcing her to scurry back and wave the pick defensively. A snatch, and the weapon was yanked from her hands.

"Don't you hurt her!" a giant's voice boomed. The cook lunged to his feet, took a thunderous stomp forward, and grasped the wolf by its shoulders, yanking it off the grass and hurling it to the side. Flailing, the creature landed in a mess of yellow flowers.

Yet again the wolf was on its feet in an instant, unfazed, but that instant had been enough time for Edwin to snap out his next spell, projecting a roaring ray of flame across the meadow to strike the beast square in the chest. The magic did little against the creature's thick and resistant hide, but it was enough to force a stumble backwards.

And then Shar-Teel was closing in too, running at the beast with both blades out for a sweep. The creature rolled aside and the sword merely grazed it, then it shot upright, fixed Shar-Teel with one quick glare, lips twitching and teeth gleaming, and then…

…then it turned around, gave a snort that seemed to signal the rest of the pack, and raced for the trees.

Flicking his wrist, Edwin made the flames disappear, watching the tails retreat as the whole pack receded into the forest. The ship's mate and the beast that had taken her were already long gone.

Nearby, the oversized cook sat down with a great thump, and Ratface dropped in beside him, the both of them panting and trembling. Looking over, the cook place a careful hand on the woman's shoulder. "Th-thank you, Vicail."

"Course," she panted out. "Couldn't leave all the cooking to that crazy elf…" Her voice cracked. "…now could I?"

"Suppose not."

"Shit. Wenda…"

"Yes." His voice was breaking too as they both looked off. "Wenda…"

Edwin stomped across the flowers, arms once again raised high for an incantation. This would _not_ do! Being picked off one by one! Being blindsided! Humiliated!

If he had the option to return to the academy right now he would _attack_ the dusty corner of the library where the divination books were kept. He would bolster his spell-repertory with the sort of magic that tracked one's enemies and put eyes in the back of one's head. He would know all! See all!

But one must work with the tools at hand. He had no useful divinations ready, but there was a bit of necromancy he had been toying with. Time to test it out.

Twilight was giving way to full darkness now, and the shadows grew long and thick. With extended fingers, words of calling, and force of will, Edwin plucked at those shadows and made them slither.

* * *

The night dragged on, tense and getting tenser down in the hermit's den. They were all sitting around, sullen-eyed or twiddling their damn thumbs, wondering when the wolves would come back for another chomp. Not like things had been particularly cozy on the nights before this one: they had come to the place as brine-and-blood-soaked refugees, after all. Come to hide in the basement, away from the monsters, welcomed only for a price by the asshole landlord.

Now though…now that the cabin had been breached and they all knew that it could happen again…well. Now they weren't hiding; more like huddling with their weapons and waiting for their doom.

_'Our doom.' Ha!_

Reminded Shar-Teel of that spindly little elf she'd been forced to follow a little while back. He'd be a funny sight down here wouldn't he? Maybe fidgeting worse than the old elf-hermit. _Maybe._ Their host was fidgeting pretty damn hard himself. Likely Xan and him were distant cousins.

When Dradeel wasn't pacing around and pulling at his own sleeves he would sit down for a brief spell, look like he was trying to settle, then shoot up a moment later, always finding something in the den or the upper chamber to fortify, straighten, and fiddle with. Then he was right back to pacing and pulling.

Shar-Teel had been none too impressed with what an emotionless little lump of a man their host had been on first meeting, obviously drained of all his vim by the long empty years, but now she was kind of missing the old version. All the nervous pacing was annoying to watch. _Bah. Men._ Huffy, acting all in charge, and brittle as eggshells when things don't go their way.

The others were fairing a bit better than the mad elf: just some mild fiddling and weapon-clutching on the part of the sailors and the halfling girl. Still kind of stupid. They'd only get more frayed and tired as the night wore on, and that wouldn't do anyone any good.

Best to curl up and rest while you have the chance. That had already been Shar-Teel's motto, out on the dirty campaign trail. Apparently she had a gift for being able to sleep whenever and wherever, too. Useful for a mercenary.

Unfortunately that gift wouldn't serve her at the moment. She'd spent the last few days sleeping, and now that she was up it felt like she'd be up for a while. Just had to find something useful to do now. Frustrating. Her blades had been thoroughly cleaned, and the same went for her boots and helmet. She'd also neatly braided her hair and put it in place, cleaned her teeth, and mixed up a fresh jar of war paint. Running out of tasks now. A shame they didn't have any cards.

By old merc-camp tradition a roll in the sack would have been a common way to let off steam at this point, but she'd never been fond of the tribadism thing, and there weren't really any good male prospects nearby. Oto the cook was the only fit-looking fellow here, but he seemed to have had a thing for Wenda and was taking the loss pretty hard. As for the red wizard or the crazy old man? Forget it!

So that left Shar-Teel sitting here and making a go at mending her scalemail coat (likely her late asshole of a father would have made a joke here about sewing and woman's work and all of that. Eldoth too. But fuck 'em! Clothes needs to hold together, and armor doubly so. Mending and maintaining is almost as key a part to war as breaking stuff, although she had to admit that breaking was a lot more fun). She was making do with some of the hermit's sewing tools and bits of cloth from an old curtain, trying to line up the scales and reinforce the gaps. Shame there was no leather around. They should have thought to snatch up one of the wolves after they killed it, for meat and skinning.

Edwin was the only other one here being practical-minded, or so it looked: he sat cross-legged at the low spot in the cellar, eyes shut while he mentally followed some minion of his. Wore a bit of a pissy look on his face, along with the concentration, so maybe he didn't like what he saw. Then again, he always looked pissy.

Shar-Teel went back to her armor, frowning. She'd gotten a few scales aligned, and now some of the gaps were covered with ad hock padding, but there was still a lot of space for claws to rip into. Hm. Was there any sort of metal sitting around that she could work? Maybe if she covered that big gap with a pan or pot lid-

Some nearby rustling drew her attention: Edwin rising to his feet. Had a look of urgency on his face too, though he still paused to brush at his robes and try and smooth out every wrinkle —the vain bastard. "The ship is vulnerable," he stated. "Come. This may be our one opportunity."

A chorus of shock and objections rose up:

"It's the dead of night."

" _Has_ to be a trap. All they bloody do is lay traps."

"What if the wolves are right out there? Are you sure..?"

Edwin sighed. " _Nine_ of the wolfweres are together on the far eastern beach, fumbling about with our old lifeboats. And there are no beasts near this cabin, as far as the other shadow can detect. There will be no better time." That didn't quiet the objections, and he went on with his usual huffy speech, dismissing worries, explaining how infallible he was, calling them imbeciles; all of that.

Shar-Teel didn't say a thing, though. Instead she had donned her armor, and now she twisted her bladed gauntlet into place. After all these days trapped in the cabin, some fresh air and some action sounded damned appealing. Time for some bloodshed.

* * *

Howls and cries jolted Ashura up from her bed, and she came fully awake about a step outside the hut, hastily dressed and fumbling her swordbelt into place. A full moon lit the street and the rooftops in a brilliant silver-blue, and men were running by, two of them huffing along with torches in hand. All up and down the way people were pushing their door-drapes aside and streaming from their homes.

"To the wall!" a torchbearer shouted. "An attack! Everyone, get to the wall!"

Touching down on the street, Ashura found Delainy close by her shoulder, a painted staff in the young woman's hands. It was the first time she had seen anyone in the clan hold a weapon (seemed they preferred claws and teeth), though perhaps the staff was more of a priestly tool than a blunt instrument. Together they turned in the direction of the runners.

"Wait!" a voice behind them shouted. A little girl waved her arms, trying to draw the attention of the men with torches. "The fish house! They're at the fish house! They're coming from the bay!"

The men didn't seem to hear her. In less than a breath the torchlight bobbed around the bend, along with the curled tails and sprouting fur of villagers racing to follow, discarded clothes left behind in the doorways of the huts. The girl hunched down a little short of Ashura and Delainy, grasping her knees and fighting to catch her breath. _Solianna._ That was her name. The one who had found Ashura on the beach after the storm.

"You have to hear!" Solianna shouted once she had breath once more. "They're in the bay!"

"They cannot be," Delainy said. "They have never come from there before." Durlyle had slipped in beside them now, already in his wolfish form.

"There's a first time for everything," Ashura said with a shrug, turning south and drawing her sword. Seemed like there was barking in every direction.

"No. The sharks still guard against swimming beasts. I have kept the pacts renewed, and made the sacrifices myself."

"Would those sharks stop a boat?"

Delainy's eyes widened. "A boat? A disturbing thought." She turned to the little girl. "The fish house, you say?"

Snot-nosed and still panting, Solianna nodded, and that seemed enough for Delainy. Taking the lead, she began to run down the southern street. "Bad, if they have _built_ ships," she muttered as they went. "They have never built anything before. _Should_ never build anything. They are feral."

Ahead lay sandbars were the southern huts stood on stilts, along with the cove and the docks: a little semi-circle of piers dominated by the longhouse where the fishing gear was stored and the daily catches were processed. As they neared the place sounds of commotion greeted them: scuffing and snarls, along with a lot of pained yips.

_About time I meet one of these 'beasts.'_ There sure had been a lot of fuss made over them.

_'They are stronger and larger than any of us,'_ Durlyle had told her, when she'd pressed him. _'Excepting Kaishas, perhaps. Big and strong, but they are less numerous. We defend against them and push them back, with our numbers, our Belonging and moving together, and with the gifts that the Beastlord granted to those like my sister and I._

_'They are clever also, and command many lesser beasts. Worgs, you call them? A pack of such creatures, as numerous as our own clan bolsters their ranks. And beware: if you ever see a man or woman without this mark displayed on their chest-'_ (With that he had tapped his tattoo emphatically) _'-ignore whatever story they try to tell you, and if they begin to sing plug your ears and shout. Disguised as humans, they weave songs that can entrance you, before they pounce.'_

She'd put two and two together, of course. Tough and feral creatures that resembled werewolves but were more beastly, commanding worgs and capable of lulling their prey with song. He was describing wolfweres: creatures she'd read about in several bestiaries back in Candlekeep.

Though there didn't seem to be any enticing songs up ahead: just a beastly racket. A small, round hut overlooked the water up the beach from the piers and the longhouse, and it seemed to be shaking. Curtains billowed and claws flashed between the flaps.

_Alright then._ A target. Ashura ran for the door, but as she neared the base of the steps something occurred to her. _How am I going to tell werewolf from wolfwere, exactly?_

With a snap the curtain at the doorway fell and a bulky form all tangled in it dropped to the ramp, then tumbled down to roll on the sand. It stopped a pace or two short of Ashura's feet, breathing hard and struggling to unwrap itself. Himself. Close up the scent was easy enough to read, and she knew this male: she'd seen him dance in the circle, and walk past her with his fishing gear.

A second creature shouldered its way through the doorway, broadly muscled and prickly-eared and roaring. Looked about the same as any other upright wolf, but as it bounded down the steps its odor struck Ashura's nostrils, distinct and unfamiliar.

Well that answered her question. Just had to trust her nose. She aimed her sword at the stranger.

The stranger leapt and landed on the prone and tangled male. Squealing erupted, grass-weave and fur tore away and flew, and Ashura swiveled in and lunged with a full-bodied stab.

She'd aimed right at the stranger's chest, but with all the thrashing the blade ended up catching the meat of his shoulder and slipped off, jarring Ashura's arm as she stumbled forward and past. There was just the faintest speck of blood on the tip of the blade.

Behind her, she felt the stranger turn, and her knees bent on reflex, dropping low. Claws sailed over her head, and she braced herself with a hand against the sand, then spun on the balls of her feet and slashed at the beast, the edge of her sword striking ribs and rebounding. It was like slashing a wall of iron.

_Iron. Oh shit!_ Now she was rolling on her back, away from retaliating claws, as a flood half-remembered trivia from bestiaries and treatises on lycanthropy raced through her mind. There had been a line somewhere about wolfweres, and how the _'feral descendants of werewolves, carrying a more concentrated form of the curse, are closer to the wilds of faery and farther from the moon.'_ A lot of pretentious, pseudo-poetic drivel, but the bottom line was that cold-wrought iron was the alloy needed to pierce their enchanted hides, rather than silver.

That all flashed by, and then she rolled to her feet, tried to leap away, and a paw smashed into her side and sent her flying.

* * *

Once the last tendrils of poisoned gas leaked away and the sound of choking abated, Edwin took a few cautious steps through the cracked hull of the ship. Long, shaggy bodies lay strewn across the moldering floor, pink tongues poking out between sharp teeth. Now that the worgs were dead and still it was clear that they were quite a bit gaunter than other such creatures that Edwin had encountered; given the time and patience he could have counted every rib on their upturned stomachs.

"Aw," Alora squeaked into the silence. "Poor doggies. Almost seems that-"

"Shh!" Shar-Teel hissed, harsh as she could sound while still keeping a low volume.

Alora fell silent and they all crept further in, weaving past rotting planks and pushing through the haze of dust-moats, brightly lit by shafts of moonlight and Edwin's bobbling _light_ cantrip. The hold was thick with the smell of must and mildew, the lowest point soft and soggy, and the back corner of the chamber was carpeted with old, gnawed bones.

Alora was, perhaps, the noisiest thief in existence, but she proved to be _somewhat_ adept at her job a little later, halting them with a gesture as she knelt at the foot of a stepladder and drew a knife. A careful snip removed a tripwire, then she used the weapon ( _Weapon?_ Edwin had only ever seen her use the blade to cut flowers, peel apples, clean her nails, dig up roots, and, of course, to probe for traps, so perhaps the word 'tool' fit better) to pry some sort of dart-loaded device away from the beam opposite the steps.

Next, the girl bent and scurried up the ancient wooden rungs, somehow managing to avoid making them creak. Peaking up top and swiveling, Alora surveyed the next deck, and for a time her companions were forced to wait and contemplate her swishing, fur-capped feet. Eventually she knelt, gestured for them all to follow, and then climbed out of sight.

Shar-Teel was the first to tromp up the ladder (louder, of course, than Alora), followed by Edwin, then the jittery hermit and the nervous sailors. The second deck was as dilapidated as the first, empty save for support pillars and the remains of ancient crates and casks. Alora set the pace, slow and careful, approaching and then peering around each pillar while the rest followed in a loose line, imitating the little woman's motions as best they could ( _Only step where she is stepping_ ). All was silent save the creak of mildewed boards beneath their feet, the far corners of the deck all veiled in shadow. Between that, the pillars, and the piled debris, there were plenty of potential hiding spots.

Still, they reached the wood frame steps to the next deck without incident, and after a little poking Alora found no evidence of further traps. She started up, slithering over one step at a time with her belly close to the wood, silent as a ghost with Shar-Teel climbing several steps behind.

About halfway up the stairs Alora froze, and the others stopped as well, breathes held in. Edwin scanned the steps. _Is there a tripwire? Or..?_

But Alora kept her knife in her pocket, head cocked, as if listening to something. She took a step backwards, as did Shar-Teel, then Alora began to shake her head. Looked like she was mouthing something.

_Blast it girl! Just say what it is!_ Edwin's fingers were curled and ready, spell-words on the tip of his tongue. But what spell to use?

Then Alora spun, tossed something over her shoulder, and leapt from the step, shoving Shar-Teel in the chest as she went. The big woman reeled, the smaller one flipped around her, and then Alora was a violet streak zipping past Edwin.

A bulky shadow dropped to the steps ahead of them, (landing where Alora had been), and then everything else happened at once: limbs tangling, feet tapping, backsides or shoulders or elbows striking the body behind or the steps or the floor as they all went tumbling away from the beast.

There were shouts and screams and gasps and grunts and a high-pitched yip, all at the same time, and then Edwin found himself undamaged and leaning against something soft. He rolled away and shot to his feet, retreating further (and stepping on the cook's shoulder in the process) as he noticed that Shar-Teel was still upright, skipping down the stairway with her longsword out and swishing. She seemed to be roaring the word: "Back! Back! Back!" over and over, either to the mess of companions behind her, the wolfwere in front, or both.

Blood smeared the steps, along with several small, glinting bits of steel: caltrops that Alora had managed to drop when she sensed the wolf coming. Edwin blinked at the sight and shook his head. Even if he would never understand this strange and eccentric girl, one had to admit that she was somewhat competent.

Time show his competence as well.

Ducking low to make himself less of a target, Edwin dared to climb a couple of steps; enough to reach out and tap Shar-Teel on the small of her back as he intoned a swift phrase in Draconic. So far as meat-shields went he much preferred Ashura: she was damn near indestructible, and could rip the life-force from her enemies if she took an injury —a most handy trick— while Shar-Teel was prone to crumple if a serious blow landed.

Still, that flaw could be fixed. A dull light rolled off of Edwin's fingertip, and then Shar-Teel's entire form —skin and armor and all— turned granite-gray, protected by a flexible layer of conjured stone. Balancing on the steps, Edwin attempted to roll with Shar-Teel's movements (best to keep the big wench between himself and the wolf, and avoid her blades as well) and focused on his next spell. (Irritating that he had to touch to the ogress to deliver them. Hopefully she wouldn't get any silly ideas).

There was a screech, and bits of Shar-Teel's second skin flaked off, the beast's claws bouncing away. She stumbled and then rebounded, stomping forward with a grunt and a counter swing, and Edwin followed up the steps, delivering another poke and a spell-word that sent a current of bolstering magic through the woman.

A strengthening spell, and the results were plain enough: when the wolf caught Shar-Teel's longsword and tried to wrench it from her hand she held on, wrenched back, and drew the beast closer to her, countering with a series of stabs from her stubby patta blade. The stairwell shook with high-pitched yelping as the beast let go of the sword, dropped onto its hindquarters, and scrambled backwards.

Shar-Teel followed, quick as a cat, finding space to raise her longsword for a full downswing. Eyes wide, the beast lifted its paws in a desperate bid to block, and then the blade was a streak and hairy fingers were flying as the sword bit through a hand and chopped into the creature's forehead. A shallow cut, but before the beast could recover or roll aside Shar-Teel wheeled her blade around and back like a woodcutter, bringing it down again with a roar that shook the walls.

The wolf's skull split cleanly in two this time, there were a few thrashes, and then that was that, the creature dropping across the top steps as Shar-Teel bent and pressed her shoulder against a supporting pillar, catching her breath. "Damn," she grunted, once she could speak. " _Finally_ killed one of those bloody things."

* * *

Sandy soil scraped by, pebbles digging in and stinging. Ashura rolled and tried to right herself; tried to brace for the creature's next pounce. It never came.

Looking up, she found the feral wolf struggling against ropes of translucent green light. The conjured vines curled and twined, tightening, and the wolf twisted in response, one way and then the other. From the shadow of the nearby hut a second creature slunk into view and reared back, howling, and its voice was somehow different from the others that Ashura had heard:

Not familiar. Not Belonging.

Now on her feet, she leaned in and charged at the trapped creature, her blade held back for a full thrust. There was a snap as one of the ethereal vines ripped away, and then Ashura's blade pierced fur and hide, skidding off a rib. Again, the wound didn't seem to be deep.

One of the beast's arms came free and a backhanded blow smashed into Ashura's stomach and sent her reeling, then crumpling to the sand. She blinked back stars, shook herself, and started scooting backwards.

The second wolf was moving in now, ready to bound, but before it could a third creature streaked in and collided with it, both of them going down in a tangle of fur and lashing claws. _Durlyle._ She could smell that he'd been the rescuer.

With a snarl of annoyance, Ashura stood and slammed her sword point-first into the sand. Damned useless thing. She kicked off one boot, then the other.

The bound wolf had both arms free, and now he (could smell that it was a he) was yanking at one of the vines at his ankle. Watching, Ashura used her teeth to peel off one of her fingerless gloves, then the next, and then the wolf was free. Wasted no time either: soon as he could, he charged.

She leapt aside, hit the sand once again, and spun away, her belt undone and slipping off. Sitting up, she found the great shape of the beast looming close, the moon blocked out by his fists. He hammered down, she rolled aside, and sand flew. A kick freed her legs from her tangled trousers, she shed her shirt with a violent shake, and then cloth was replaced by hide and fur; by bulk and fury.

The dull colors of the world snapped into vivid silver, contrasted by absolute shadows; a world that had been muted and muddied now clear and stark and crisp, then sand and discarded clothes flew aside as she shot to her feet and met the beast's roar with one of her own, gums exposed and teeth on full display. Her enemy bent and charged, bullheaded, and she twisted past, spun, and caught his shoulders with both paws, claws digging in and jaws going for the neck.

Before she could bring her teeth to bare something crashed into her side and she felt a blunt jolt and sharp twinges. Her feet left the ground, then struck down.

A little teetering, but she kept upright, finding herself facing down two wolves now, one turning to glare at her and the other throwing its head back for another howl.

The interloper had lifted and tossed her bodily. Durlyle was right: these things were bloody strong. _Well so am I._

She opened her jaws for another roar, and drew this one up from the depths —from the hot molten core— a cry that carried with it all the fire and smoke and promise of the inferno. Leaning forward, she let it all out, flecks of golden furnace-fire flicking out before her.

The pair of strangers cringed, shoulders tensing and tails involuntarily tucking as they both stepped back. Their eyes darted about, reflecting the sparks, alight with confusion. _Good._ With a second roar Ashura propelled herself forward.

The closest wolf stood hesitant, one paw out to ward her off but the rest of his body turning, like he wanted to spring away. Flight or fight.

Before he could decide her claws were on him, and they both went crashing to the sand. Her teeth sunk in; a taste of blood, a little worrying and twisting, and then he shook her off, claws stinging her snout. A shoulder knocked her farther back, the wolf slithering and turning and pushing to his feet; panting, bleeding, and trying to run.

Flight it was.

A leap and he was overtaken, smashing jaw-first to the ground. The stranger had thick hide, and there was strong muscle beneath, but the strength of the furnace was coursing through Ashura now. Her head reared back and when she bit down this time she tasted bone. A tight clench, and something snapped, then with a shudder her prey went limp.

A roar nearby. The second feral one was sweeping in, eyes madness-wide and jaws wide open too, arms spread to grasp and to crush.

Shoving with all four paws, Ashura rolled off the prone body and her enemy's arms closed on emptiness. He turned, swiped, missed, and then she retaliated, claws digging into his arms and teeth going for his throat.

The other wolf twisted and snapped back at her, and the world became a blur of churning fur and streaks of blood and slather and flying sand. They thrashed and strained and rolled along the soil and then on wood, the moon flashing above with each turn.

With a jolt and a crunch Ashura found herself upright and slammed back-and-shoulders first against a wall. The wood gave. She wriggled and ripped an arm free from the other beast's grasp, then slashed him full across the chest. He fumbled his way back and that gave her room to launch off the dented wall, double-pawed and shoving.

They were on a wooden pier now, rippling water visible just over the edge, and they were both panting hard, cut and bleeding — fur matted and ripped. The other beast's eyes were not as wild and wide as before; more cool and assessing as they both caught their breathes and faced off.

A long, low growl rumbled between them, Ashura only half-aware that it was coming from her own muzzle, and again sparks floated before her eyes. The other wolf clinched his teeth and drew back his lips, fighting down hesitation, his shoulders quivering, then he threw back his head and let out a deafening roar, propelling himself forward with all four paws.

He flew, and so did she. They met mid-air, heads bent and teeth questing, his arms open and intent to crush. Her claws caught his shoulders, and with a crack her rising knee struck his chin and closed his jaw as they both collided.

His momentum sent him crashing into a pile of barrels that broke and spilled, dirt and wriggling worms all seeping out. Propped up on the soil and the splinters, he shook himself, prone for a moment, but a moment was all it took. Ashura pounced, teeth finding his neck and biting down hard as she could. Her head shook and flesh tore.

A few moments later the other beast lay still, and Ashura's strength was fleeing. She shook and gulped down breath after breath, sliding back from the dead body and against the wall of the longhouse. Limbs that had flown without effort were now heavy as lead, and looking down she realized that her coarse black coat was receding. Her vision blurred, and the silver world melted back into color.

As her breaths steadied, it occurred to her that there was another big, shaggy thing looming close and leaning in. That was alright though. She knew his smell. She looked up at the hunched form of Durlyle and tried to give him a smile.

Another figure stepped in, this one soft and human, carrying a staff and wearing a simple brown dress. "You are both injured," Delainy said, also a bit out of breath.

"Attend to her first," Durlyle replied. "Mine was…just a tussle." Didn't exactly look that way: his fur was matted in a lot of places.

Though, glancing down, Ashura had to admit that she was probably even more of a mess. There were blackened claw marks all over her upper body, everywhere stung, and she was drenched and slathered in about enough blood and tufts of hair to count as covering. Well, at least most of the blood didn't seem to be her own. That's what counts, right?

Kneeling, Delainy chanted out a healing prayer and pressed her palms against Ashura's bleeding bicep, and as the wounds closed Durlyle shrugged off his coat, shrinking down to human form. He then pressed his hands against his chest, singing out a healing spell of his own. Over at the broken barrels the still form of the creature Ashura had killed remained a mass of fur and muscle. Werewolves revert to their true form when they die, and wolfweres too. This was it.

"You slew one of the beasts," Delainy said, once the glow left her hands. Hardly sounded like she believed it.

"Two," Durlyle pointed out. "The rust-red one lays on the beach, over there. The one who killed Evan. We must tell his brother that he is now avenged."

"Two." Delainy shook her head. "Truly, the Beastlord sent you to us."

"Uh," was all Ashura could think to say as she slid, unsteady, to her feet. She supposed that _some_ god had sent her, but they probably wouldn't be pleased if she explained exactly who and why.

_'…Chaos shall be sewn from their passage…'_

Felt like a bit of a divine joke too: landing here and being hailed like some sort of werewolf savior with a legendary sword, only to find out that the sword was useless against the monsters she was supposed to be slaying.

_Eh._ Still, once she had the strength to walk she made her way down to the beach and found the sword, along with her clothes. It was better than nothing (and it could slay _certain_ monsters easy enough…)

There was a commotion up ahead, at the huts that lined the shore. No yips or howls, at least: just members of the clan all gathered in a circle, and in their midst someone was wailing. It appeared to be a half-naked woman, sitting in the sand and spattered with blood, and Delainy rushed to her side quick as she could, her cloak in one hand and a healing prayer on her lips.

The woman shook and sobbed, and Delainy's magic didn't seem to ease her. As Ashura closed she realized that she recognized the woman's face, contorted though it was: this was the one who had tested her at the feast, fighting over a shish kabob.

"Maralee?" Delainy prompted, patting the woman's shoulder. "What happened? Please. We wish to help."

"Th-th-they…" was all the woman could shudder out for a moment. Then she straightened and she shouted. "My child! They took him! The beasts took him!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little exposition that I felt was too clunky to work into the actual story, but that some readers may want to know:
> 
> -How did Vicail manage to injure the wolfwere?
> 
> Her pickax is made of cold iron. Chekov's useless-seeming gun strikes again!
> 
> I've always been a little dubious about the whole 'only silver/only cold iron' thing, but experience with my own pet dogs has taught me that those things have *really* tough skin. You'll see them bump into something sharp, think "Ack! Poor thing! That's gotta hurt!" and then realize that the dog is completely unfazed. I kind of figure that the toughness of werewolves is a magical extension of that. And of course I didn't want to do the goofy 'werewolves are indestructible unless there's a silver bullet' thing. If the force is strong enough it should overcome the magic hide and injure or kill them, as strength-enhanced Shar-Teel and strength-enhanced Ashura demonstrated in this chapter.
> 
> -What is this patta thing that Shar-Teel uses?
> 
> A patta is an Indian weapon: essentially a sword or knife blade integrated into a gauntlet. In the previous fic one of Shar-Teel's hands was crippled in a fight, and once she recovered she put a weapon over that hand so that she could continue getting some use out of it. Shar-Teel's gotta stay stabby, you know?
> 
> -Why does Durlyle transform more often than his sister?
> 
> Primarily, she's more of a spellcaster than he is (in game terms, I decided that she's a druid and he's a bard), and I figured that in werewolf form they can't cast spells (something about fine motor functions, and also a magic-flinging werewolf might be a bit overpowered).
> 
> Only some of the villagers transform for the same reason: someone has to stay human to operate torches and gates and such. As I figure it, they can flow between human and werewolf form pretty seamlessly, but there are some drawbacks to being a werewolf: it's exhausting if you stay a wolf for too long, there's always a risk of losing control, and you can never do 'fine' and complex tasks as a raging monster.


	7. Led

_ "There is nothing of God or Light in that heartless sound — it is all black winter and dark ice."  _ -Stephen King, _The Cycle of the Werewolf_

* * *

Jorin took the lead, and the rest tailed him through the dark, hopping over roots and weaving past brush and branches. No need for orders, words, or even sound: he headed the little pack of seven and the others simply followed, single-file and turning as he turned. In Ashura’s vision everything was sharp silver and pitch black, once again, Maralee a step ahead of her and Durlyle a step behind. 

Their leader had been a big, sturdy man, and he made for a bigger, sturdier beast: broad-backed and muscular, with a dappled brown coat. Ashura had noticed him a few times in the village, always manning the wall or the gate.

_ 'A long time, since I have led a hunt,'  _ was all the man had said before shedding his human form and gesturing for them to follow, and now he guided them along the coast, intent on tracking the rowboats and cutting the beasts off before they reached their lair.

Ashura hadn't particularly wanted to go, bone-tired as she'd felt, but as the new 'beast slayer' they seemed to consider her essential. And _eh_ ; seemed like she was on her third or fourth wind now that she had gotten moving, the pack surrounding her and a full hunter's moon pulsing overhead. There was something familiar and comfortable about this path, too: plunging headfirst into the dark with no plan beyond action, reflex, and fury. Was the way she tended to deal with things, and this tribe acted the same.

( _'Oh yes,'_ she could hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Edwin's prattling on somewhere in the back of her mind. _'Not having a plan or a thought for consequences has solved_ so many _problems for you in the past! It is how you have come to this lovely point in your life, after all: separated from your sister, marooned, not a copper to your name and naked on top of that, caked in blood and dirt, cursed with lycanthropy and following creatures just as impulsive and foolish as you into the jaws of what is very likely yet another trap!’_ )

Not-Edwin had a pretty good point. Too bad she could barely hear him over the puffing breaths of the beasts at her side; over the pulsing of her blood and the scraping of her claws; over the swish of trees and the flicker of moonlight and the promise of fresh prey that teased and tickled her nostrils.

She had started to pick up the musk of the beasts that they were chasing, and then, faint on the wind, there came the wailing of a child. The white wolf just ahead of Ashura tensed and sped up, forepaws pounding the earth, and now they were all racing to keep pace and the branches were swishing and there was nothing but instinct and action.

From the trees up ahead large, beastly shapes fanned out, some on two legs but most on four, while the child's crying sped off. The other pack was sending out a rearguard, sweeping in to meet and delay them. They ran on a collision course.

* * *

Once the big wench had caught her breath she stood and strode deeper into the cabin, blades crossed together and head swiveling. Appeared that she was eager to get the next fight under way, if there were any more beasts about. _Wise. We'd best make use of the bolstering spells while they last._

"My quarters were somewhere around here," Dradeel whispered, looking about. "If I remember correctly, we are just beneath the captain's suite."

"Yup," Alora chirped. "That's where I snatched up the treasures. The poor chained-up fellow was up there too."

"We should free him, then," the cook said, facing down the hall, and Alora began to creep that way, scouting for more traps.

"Hm," Edwin muttered. "Likely this prisoner is a werewolf himself, and possibly trouble."

The old elf was ignoring them all. He had moved to one of side of the deck, where multiple little cubbies were partitioned off by the moldering remnants of walls. Dowels were arranged between some of them, where curtains had once hung. "Let's see now," Dradeel muttered to himself, switching to old Thorassi. "It was this cabin. Third one down. And the last place I…" He then let out a girlish sort of gasp and bent to dig his way through a heap of rotten wood.

"Corellon's mercy!" the old man shouted a moment later, wobbling upright with an audible creak of bone. If it was painful, he showed no sign. Instead, he was grinning like a child at the small, golden book between his hands. "They simply left it! Right here! After all these years!"

"Aww," Alora purred, clapping her hands and doing a little dance. "So glad ya finally found it!"

"Yes," Edwin agreed, if a bit more cold, taking a step ahead and into the cabin. "Now you'll be of some use to us, I trust?"

Dradeel continued to ignore them, now thumbing through the pages of his spellbook, and something about the dreamy look on his face had Edwin taking another step in, and then another. The old hermit laughed, a little chuckle that grew loud and then hysterical, as he stopped on a particular page. "Still here! It's all still here!" A long sigh followed, and then a deep breath. He pinched the page now, focusing upon it.

_ No.  _ "If you are thinking of-"

" _Siltir…_ " the elf intoned.

_ Damnit!  _ Edwin barked out an arcane word of his own, extending his hand. His eyes narrowed on the book, mind reaching out to snatch at it.

" _…yarak…_ " The air wavered around Dradeel, and then pages rustled, the book rattling in his hand. The waver faltered, the elf's lips trembling as he struggled to concentrate.

_ Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!  _ How very tired he was of being _outplayed!_ With every fiber of his will Edwin yanked, and with a rip the book shot into his outstretched hand and Dradeel went tumbling backwards onto a pile of shattered planks.

Eyes wide and feral, the old man's fingers clinched the torn page between them, and he shouted out the final word of the spell: "… _keev!_ " The piece of parchment incinerated, the shimmer swelled up once again, and then, with a rush of air, Dradeel vanished.

Alora's jaw hung open, and the big Chultan beside her covered his mouth with his hand.

"Umberlee's tits…" Ratface managed to mutter, and Shar-Teel stomped her foot against the deck, shaking the entire floor.

"That damned snake!"

Teeth clenched, Edwin just shook his head. _He went immediately to the teleportation spell. I should have realized._ A bit numb, he glanced down at the spellbook now dangling in his hand. _Not a complete loss, at least._ As soon as he had a chance to properly examine the book, he would search for useful divination spells. _Wizard's Eye. Clairvoyance. All of that._ He would _never_ be caught missing the painfully obvious again.

There was no time to sit down and learn new magics at the moment, though. He gestured. "Come. The captain's cabin. While we can still get _something_ useful done."

As with the rest of the ship, the captain's deck had seen better days (and a lot of canine traffic since). Tattered picture frames lined the far wall, wisps of faded canvas hanging from some of them, and higher up the skulls of exotic trophy beasts were nailed. More of the skulls lay scattered across the floor or propped against the wall, along with a large, queerly shaped sword and the dusty remains of what had once been furniture.

Shar-Teel took a straight path for the weapon (naturally), while Alora went in the opposite direction, approaching the wall where the prisoner that she had mentioned sat chained. The man watched her approach through long and tangled hair; a big fellow, muscled like a Rashemi berserker and near as hairy, his naked body riddled with old scars and speckled by dried blood and dirt, wrists and ankles shackled to the wall. 

No doubt he was some sort of lycanthrope –likely a prisoner from a rival pack– but Alora showed no fear, her lockpicks thrust out as she scurried up to the man. "Whew!" she exclaimed. "It'll just take a jiffy or two, and then we'll have you freed. After that we’ll see about finding you some pants. Won't that be nice?"

The man showed no emotion. He just watched her through narrowed eyes.

At the other end of the cabin Shar-Teel had picked up the strange sword. "Well damn," she announced as she tested the weapon's weight. "Jackpot!" 

_ Hm?  _ To Edwin it looked like more of a curiosity than a prize: a sword with an oversized pommel and hilt that held twin, single-edged blades running out from it in parallel, one blade a dull brown while the other shone a bright silver, both rune-marked. Then he realized. An enchanted weapon, with silver and iron all in one place.

"Why didn't you pick this up the first time?" Shar-Teel asked Alora, "You realize what this is?"

"Was _way_ too heavy," Alora said, one of the prisoner's manacles falling away with a click.

"Stupid of the wolves to keep this lying around." Shar-Teel rotated the sword in her hand, then gave it a testing swing.

"Likely they hoped to use it on their enemies," Edwin said, eyes on the prisoner as he approached that side of the cabin. "Alora. Wait. We need to know who this man _is._ " Suspicious that the prisoner had not even made a sound. Big as a Rashemi berserker, and with the same grating stoicism. Edwin shared a long, hard look with the stranger, trying to read the face beneath the tangle of brown hair and dirt. Only one eye was visible, a bit wrinkled, with a distinctive brow. There was something familiar here…

"He's just some poor guy," Alora said, ignoring his warning and probing at the other lock. "What more do we need to-"

"Alora! Stop! This man-"

_ Click.  _ The manacle slackened and fell away.

Alora turned, a big smile on her face, and opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but she was cut off when the prisoner's hand shot to the back of her neck, fingers closing. " _Ulp_!" was all she managed to choke out.

"You wonder about the sword?" the man snapped, his accent distinctive, with a voice that Edwin remembered well. "They were to use the silvered edge to cut out my heart.” With a ripple of fur and bulk the man grew and changed, claws extending on the fingers that were clinched at Alora's throat, though he didn't dig in. Yet.

"…this man," Edwin continued, a wand now in his hand and pointing at the pair of them "is the absolute _idiot_ who bit off our captain's head and got us all shipwrecked in the first place!"

* * *

Always moving. Always pushing. Forward! Forward! Forward!

A worg charged in from the right and she caught its scruff and sent it flipping and sliding by. Momentum made her colliding with the next beast, and her claws dug into its back. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, she took a glancing bite to the calf and it took a solid chomp to the shoulder, then they shot up and the wolf ran squealing away.

She kept moving. 

Ahead, she caught sight of Maralee's swishing white tail and raced to follow. Ahead of them both ran the gray, upright beast, scars and matted fur on his back and a little mop of bright hair bobbing at his shoulder. The cries of the stolen boy were faint and ragged, but Ashura's ears picked them up, and as she thundered along behind Maralee her nostrils caught the scent of the pup. The scent of one of her own, in mindless terror, jostled up and down in the arms of a stranger.

Their pace increased, feverish now. They leapt a fallen tree, spun across a crooked ditch, ducked the whipping branches and cut through the brush, Maralee mad on the trail of her cub and Ashura at her heel.

The cries and snarls of battle were fading well behind them now. Seemed they'd left the others, tangled up with the pack, barreling on with a singular purpose and adrenaline thrumming as the obstacles rose and whipped by.

Again: this was a familiar place. Like the Wood of Sharp, icicle-arrows whistling past Ashura's face as she plunged into the brush in search of the archer. Like the plunge, deeper and deeper, into the Orothiar Clanhold. Like the filthy taproom of the Blushing Mermaid, fighting back sickness and a roaring ogre too, the big bastard standing between her and the assassin who carried her antidote. Or the ballroom at the Ducal Palace, a dance floor full of screaming people and slippery-faced monsters all lined up between her and her smirking brother.

More shaggy bodies exploded from the brush beside them, and Maralee went down, kicking and thrashing. Ashura didn't slow; a sideways leap over a worg and a slash of her claws and then on she went, eyes fixed on the broad gray back of her quarry and the pup he was clutching.

Didn't slow. Couldn't slow. She was closing now!

* * *

Mendas snorted through his newly grown snout, eyes shifting to Shar-Teel as she stepped in, double-bladed sword raised and the silver edge facing forward. "No closer," he growled. "Or I shake this little rabbit until neck is breaking." He rattled Alora a bit for emphasis. "She will finish with shackles. Yes?"

Edgwin glared. "And then we go our separate ways?" he eventually hissed. "Yes?"

"Agreed." The big beast lowered Alora, claws slipping from her throat to grasp the collar of her vest, as he might hold the scruff of a pup.

"Shouldn't trust this thing," Shar-Teel snarled. "Moment it's free, it'll attack." The pair of sailors seemed to agree: they had backed up against the far side of the cabin.

Ignoring Shar-Teel, the werewolf growled down at his captive. "Free me!"

Alora responded with a meek little nod and, once she'd been placed near his ankle, and began to work at the lock there, this time with little enthusiasm.

"A shame you did not understand the principles of negotiation back on the _Harpsong_ ," Edwin muttered. "We could have avoided this predicament."

"The captain force me. Refusing to-"

"To destroy his ship in a storm? So instead you went and smashed it up for him? Brilliance itself."

"His sea charts and navigate books are enough. My people have been building a ship." The shackle clicked and he stepped out, pushing Alora to the other side to finish the last one.

"Ah. If you had just kindly explained that to him then! 'Allow me to smash your ship on a reef, so I might pilfer your books.' Such a shame he did not understand." The wolf snarled, but Edwin went on. "I am skeptical of this whole plan, having observed you in the wild. Have you really the intelligence to navigate by sea? To _read_ a map? The words will be in Chondathan, you realize. A language you regularly butcher (far worse even than you butchered the poor captain, even…)"

"Just be quiet, little man." The creature tightened his grip on Alora's vest, but Edwin had his complete attention. He did not notice how the girl had abandoned the lock, nor the wriggling motion that she had begun to make.

"But I am giving you sound advice, even if you are far too much of an imbecile to heed anything that I-"

"BE QUI-" 

The bellowing roar snuffled out into a sort of shocked " _pff-smrth_ " as a handful of black powder struck the wolf full in the snout. Alora dropped to the deck and scampered forwards soon as she had tossed the stuff, free of her vest and ducking in anticipation of claw-swipes, but no blows followed. Instead, the creature's paw went to its nose, its body seized up, and then it shuddered out a sneeze that shook the walls and floor.

Another sneeze followed, giving Alora plenty of time to streak out of reach and for Shar-Teel to stomp in. The wolf tried to turn on her and snarl, but only managed to rattle the deck once again with a wet snort.

Shar-Teel laughed.

* * *

Something whipped in and smashed against Ashura's stomach, but she threw the thrashing thing aside and fought forward. A stumble, a pace, and then she ran faster, annoyed by the distraction and ignoring the worg as it turned and tried to nip her heel.

Up ahead, the forest broke up a bit, and across the sandy soil an ancient structure loomed, curved and fat and listing like a beached whale. It was the hull of a wrecked galleon, cracked wide open with a hole as black and wide as the mouth of a cave. The gray beast vanished through that maw, the child still thrashing at his shoulder.

Ashura gave chase, sand flying as she raced across the open ground, forepaws and hind smacking the earth. She passed through and into the ship a few shuddering breaths later, blinking in the sudden blackness, feet stirring mud and mildewed wood as she slowed. Her head pivoted this way and that. _Where?!_

No sign of a gray tail, and the cries of the boy were muffled and distorted. The place stank of fear and bile and recent death, though there was no tang of blood. Her eyes adjusted to find four-legged bodies strewn everywhere, limp as if asleep.

From outside came panting and scratching, footsteps nearing the opening. Ashura snarled in frustration as she spun to meet her pursuers, baring every claw and every fang. She'd lost her prey, gone far past the reach of the rest of the pack (… _such a familiar situation…_ ), and now the enemy was about to catch up. Well, nothing to do now but react ( _…also familiar…_ )

In a slathered blur the first creature burst through the gap, and Ashura swung behind a support pillar so it couldn't charge her straight on. More came pouring in. Four legs. Worgs. Easy enough to deal with. Dodge round the pillar. Snatch and claw.

Lift. Bite. Rip. Rend.

* * *

Hefting her awkward new blade, Shar-Teel moved in to slash, but the wolf overcame its sneezing fit enough to dive aside and away, straining the final chain as it took a grazing chop to the hindquarters. Wood groaned where the shackle was anchored, then cracked when Mendas added a kick.

Another slice and rolling dodge (irritating how quick the pair of them wove about, forcing Edwin to hesitate with the wand in his hand…), and then Mendas clamped his paws upon the chain, twisted his body and yanked all in one motion. Wood gave, splinters flew, and rusty iron whipped through the air, catching Shar-Teel's forearm and wrapping around. 

The beast pressed in as the big wench got tangled up, groping for the hilt of the sword. She yanked back, trying to twist away, chain-links rattling against her, the both of them snarling and colliding in a tangle of fur, muscle, and steel.

The pair of sailors scampered back from the claws and the stray sword and knife-swipes, backing to the hatch, and Edwin found himself scampering as well, mindful of the melee and wracking his brain for the best spell to call up. Any significant evocation would likely hit Shar-Teel, and might not even affect the wolf, and any summoned creature strong enough to do some damage would be a tight fit in the cramped cabin.

( _Why didn't I throw a web against him before the woman charged in and got in the way? Blast it! That would have made this trivial!_ )

Wolf and wench both tipped over and toppled to the deck, the beast rolling on top and slamming the warrior hard against the floor. Out of options, Edwin snarled out the words of the best spell he could think of under the circumstances, launching streaks of energy at the fury bulk of the thing, and the arcane bolts struck true, bursting into clouds of worthless little sparks. 

The beast didn’t even seem to notice, but a breath later Shar-Teel managed to roll the thing and slam its shoulder against the floor. They teetered, back and forth. Another roll and another sound smack, the wolf's head striking the deck while the woman let out some sort of unintelligible combination of a roar, a snarl, and giddy laughter. She sounded almost…happy?

The _patta_ knife seemed to be stuck through one of the creature's paws now, keeping its claws out of Shar-Teel's face, and he stubbornly held her sword-arm with his other hand. Again they teetered, at an impasse, while Edwin fumed at being forced to stand and watch like some spectator at a Thayvian arena. ( _Hm._ Should he be placing bets? And should he be grateful of disappointed that the woman was not wearing the sort of skimpy outfit you see on gladiatrixes?)

Scrapes and smashes, then Shar-Teel managed to roll on top and head-butt the creature cleanly on the snout. A slam against the deck, a thrash, another slam, wood groaning, and…

…then with an understated crumple the floor gave beneath them and they both slipped out of sight.

* * *

The worg thrashed in her claws, up in the air. A downward swing smashed it to the floor. There was a wet crunch, and the thrashing turned to convulsions. A claw-rake to the throat insured that it would stay down.

With an intake of breath Ashura shot up and spun, but nothing else in the hold was moving. Good. Enough wasted time.

Her lungs were heaving and her body wanted to slow and gulp down breath, but there were sounds echoing down from above now: scratches, snarls, and the whisper of steel. Action up there. Time to get moving.

Her eyes alighted on a wooden ladder beneath an open trap door, and then she was off, the rungs when she snatched at them. She shot up, quick as an ape, and landed on the next deck: another darkened chamber of crumbling wood and mildew. Two steps forward, then a figure stumbled out in front of her her, back turned and retreating from something. Looked to be a wiry woman, a pickax trembling in her hand, and when the woman turned and got a good look at Ashura she trembled more and raised the weapon.

Snarls echoed from outside. More beasts coming. Up above, the child screamed.

The woman with the pickax screamed too, dreadlocks shaking as Ashura snatched the head of the ax and wrenched it away, her other paw swiping in. She caught the woman by the throat, claws sinking deep and fingers squeezing. The woman's eyes bulged and then rolled back in her head as she let out a gurgle, black blood already seeping down the front of her shirt as her feet left the ground.

A second figure loomed in: a broad man with dark skin and a spiked club clenched in his hands. Before he could swing it Ashura tossed the woman aside and pounced. The man pitched back and struck the deck, claws digging into his chest and teeth finding his throat. She bit deep, tugging and tearing.

It was over fast. She shot to her feet over the prone and twitching man, then rushed on, the cabin walls blurring by. There was a stairway up ahead.

* * *

"Ain't the top dog anymore, are you?!"

The big dumb wolf's response was a predictable growl as he backed away, fur matted and blood drip-dripping to the floor. Shar-Teel tilted her sword and followed his motions, teeth bared. "Little sliver of enchanted silver bites into yer hide, and suddenly you're a whimpering little pup." She'd gotten some good swings in too, before he'd recovered from his drop. One of his arms dangled loose, and he had a bit of a limp.

_ Ah! _ Now this was what it was all about: getting in the face of a big, puffed-up fellow and cutting him down to size. _Down to size! Ha!_ Gave her an idea, that did, having a good vantage of the wolf-king's great big balls from this angle and all. Now, if she could just manage the right sort of slice this day would be complete! One neutered alpha dog, coming up!

Maybe Mendas sensed her intent too, because now he was hobbling back even faster. She pursued, testing the bastard with a sword-swipe that nicked his chest as he rolled backwards, then he was spinning and diving away, showing her his tail. A burst of speed, and he managed to squirm into an open porthole, nimble and twisty despite all his bulk.

She growled and aimed at chopping his tail off, but he was through and gone out into the dark by the time the sword whistled in, just scraping the wood. _Damn!_ Well, good riddance. She leaned back from the porthole, intent on catching her breath.

No rest for the wicked though: she immediately caught sight of _another_ werewolf, mounting the stairs at the end of the cabin. Its coat was silver-gray, and it was carrying —of all things— a swaddled, wailing little brat against its shoulder.

Edwin and Alora were standing by the ladder that led up to the captain's cabin, other end of the room, and Shar-Teel backed her way towards them. No sign of the sailors. Probably cowering somewhere in the cabin or running for their lives.

The new werewolf (not as big as Mendas, but with a wiry built and a lot of mean, old scars) rushed for the porthole, claws scratching the wood. "You freed him!" he snarled, peering out into the night, then he whirled on Shar-Teel and the rest. "He was needed!"

She shrugged. "Eh. I was trying to kill the damn dog, not free him." A flick of her wrist rotated her sword, iron edge facing forward.

"He was to die, but by _my_ hand! The ritual! Leadership to the child!" With that he shook the little tyke, who gave a raspy cry. She recognized this big critter now: the one who had tried to carry the cook off earlier. The wolfwere leader.

"Oh? Well I don't exactly give a shit."

"You realize," Edwin added, "that we could have assisted with this ritual of yours? If you fools had not tried to eat us the moment we set foot on the island."

The dumb beast just gave him a low growl, eyes swishing from Edwin’s outstretched fingers to Shar-Teel's sword, then back again. Looked like he was assessing his chances, judging who posed the biggest threat; all that shit. "If you're thinking of using that brat as a shield," Shar-Teel snarled, preemptive, "don't bother. I'll chop right through the little snotling if I have to."

More glaring and shifty-eyes. Maybe this one would turn and run too, just like his fellow idiot hair-brained wolf-leader. (She wondered if Mendas' people were just as dumb as this pack. Probably. _Heh_. Male leadership).

But before Big Gray could decide whether to eat a face full of enchanted iron or take a few slices to the ass while running away, another werewolf mounted the steps, this one a bit sleeker than most, with a coat as black as night and slicked with what looked like a lot of blood. Was a _damn_ quick critter too: in a blur it had crossed the room and leapt for Big Gray, claws high and teeth flashing in the moonlight.

On instinct Shar-Teel just backed off and let the wolves do their thing, backing even more when Big Gray crashed to the floor, fur and claws thrashing every which way while the screaming child slid forward. 

Alora had a different sort of instinct though: in a blur of violet she zipped by and swiped the kid up from the floor, or at least tried to. Ended up wobbling and teetering something fierce, arms clinging tight under the kid's and all the while squeaking: "It's alright! It's alright! I got'cha, little fellow! I...oof!" She stumbled around, bear hugging the squirming baby, her furry feet kicking and somehow managing not to tip over.

Right in front of the halfling and the tyke a whirlwind of fur and claw rattled the floorboards and the pillars. The black wolf was fast and fierce, but the gray one had some weight on it, and refused to buckle under. He pushed back, pressing a paw to the floor and managing to elbow Black Coat in the snout, then launched to his feet.

(Teeth locked and muscles tense, Shar-Teel stepped in, sword in position for a clean chop. These critters were distracted, so no better time to do some damage. Now where to chop? Where to chop?)

A spin and a shove and Black Coat slammed against a nearby wall, denting it. Momentum carried Big Gray over, face to face with the other wolf and his back turned to Shar-Teel, knees bent as he prepared to leap.

_ Big mistake, turning your back on me!  _ Shar-Teel could lunge just as quick and strong as any he-wolf.

Razor-sharp, enchantment-bolstered, wrought-iron whistled through the air as she put her all into her swing, muscles still surging thanks to Edwin's spell. The edge of the blade bit into the back of the gray wolf's neck, through fur and hide and bone and meat and windpipe and then out the other side. Black gore splashed the front of his coat, and his slack-jawed head went spinning through the air, then the decapitated body did its knee-bucking thing and crumpled to the deck.

" **HA!** " Her deep, stark laugh echoed through the cabin, and then she just had to laugh again! _What you get for underestimating me!_

The black wolf was pushing off from the wall now, its head (her head? The critters mostly looked the same but, well, no sign of dangly bits on this one) shaking from side to side.

No time to get complacent. Shar-Teel turned her blade over (maybe silver was the wrong guess, but there was only one way to find out) and widened her stance.

The creature's eyes were a faint, ice-chip blue, glancing briefly at Shar-Teel and then looking past to Alora. Then it lowered its muzzle, snarled, and leapt, slipping past Shar-Teel's swipe-range and crossing the cabin, chasing after the little halfling as she clung to the crying child.

Alora tried to skitter out of the way but she was swaying under the weight of the kid. A lock her hair went flying through the air as she turned her head and barely avoided the monster's claws, then she weaved around a pillar, dropping on her knees and skidding. She managed to slip beneath a slanted beam, which was pulped a heartbeat later by the roaring wolf's claws, Shar-Teel chasing after it all the while, swing her sword and shouting.

"Drop the brat, you idiot!"

"No way!"

"Just let it eat 'em!" A lunge, and her silver blade flashed over the werewolf's head. Bitch had sensed the blow coming and tucked beneath, though the chop seemed to get its attention. The beast spun (damned faster than the big burly males had been) and then –because of _bloody fucking course_ – that was the moment that Shar-Teel felt the strengthening spell flee her and her muscles go slack.

A clawed hand caught her sword by the iron edge, and a mighty tug wrenched it from her hand, sending her stumbling back. The weapon clattered aside and the wolf lurched in, grasping Shar-Teel's _patta_ soon as she'd raised it, and now they were face to face, both of them baring their teeth and the creature's muzzle all wrinkled, slather dripping down.

Seemed like the beast would have a much stronger bite.

_ Ah well.  _ At least she'd be done in by a she-wolf. Shar-Teel stood straight and gave the creature her best defiant glare, waiting for the lunge and the teeth, but they never came. Instead, the wolf's snarling dissipated, its teeth went back behind its lips, and it cocked its head, giving her a curious look. They stood there for an awkward moment, then the beast leaned back on its haunches, shoulders slacking and tension fleeing.

Another step back, and the creature shook itself, fur receding and skin taking its place, revealing a sun and wind-burnt face and neck, and below that milky-pale skin, smeared here and there with blood and peppered by a dozen raised scars. It shrank down, human now. A woman’s body, built like an acrobat: a bit on the slight side, but all muscle. Like the wolf that she had just been, the woman’s eyes were icy blue (if a bit bloodshot), and the tangled hair on her head and the curly patch between her legs were the same stark black that the creature’s coat had been.

"Hm," Edwin muttered from the far side of the cabin, now stepping forward. "Naked, filthy, and blood-splattered is becoming a common look for you, I see. Fitting, if not entirely becoming."

Ashura rolled her eyes. "Bit chilly too. How about you make yourself useful and conjure me up some clothes?"

" _Make_ myself useful? Bah! As if these imbeciles would have lasted a minute on this island without my guidance."

Weary, Ashura looked past Edwin, stretching a grimy and blood-drenched hand out towards Alora. The toddler was quiet for the moment, perhaps too exhausted to scream, and the halfling was making a clumsy attempt at rocking him and patting his back, heavy as he looked in her shrimpy little arms. "That kid," Ashura said. "I just ran across half this bloody island to find him."

Alora gave a little nod and stepped forward, then hesitated, biting her lip. "Uh. You're not going to…eat him? Right?"

Ashura's eyes widened, then she looked down at herself. She was silent a moment, shaking her head. "No. Going to return him to his mother."

"Whew!"

* * *

_ 'You're not going to…eat him? Right?' _

_ Ouch.  _ She had started to ask herself: _'Do I really look like a damned monster?'_ but the answer was pretty obvious. Even now, with the blood wiped from her mouth and the filth covered by crisp new clothes, a little boy pressed against her chest as she awkwardly held on.

_ Especially  _ now, stepping down to the lower cabin where the pair of dead sailors lay. They looked different than they had in the sharp silver light, moving and screaming and clinging to their meager weapons. Smaller, somehow. Even the Chultan cook, who she remembered being tall and broad and jolly in life; now he lay all slack and drained, with those open, empty eyes.

"Dang…" Alora managed, shaking her head. "Looks like one of the beasts got 'em."

"Yes." Edwin gave Ashura a pointed look.

A scraping sound caught their attention before anything more could be said, everyone spinning to face it. A shaggy body had just dropped to the floor, by a pillar, teeth and claws and sharp ears and all. A whiff of its musk struck Ashura's nose, and she registered it as unfamiliar –one of the ferals- and she backed away with the baby clinging to her.

Edwin moved first, a hand thrust out and an arcane word echoing through the hold. A flash and a spiderweb pattern, and then the beast surged into something sticky, clinging and tangling. There were ripping sounds as it twisted, but before it could rip the web away Shar-Teel was there with her iron blade streaking down. Several frantic slashes silenced the beast. 

"And that," Edwin proclaimed as he brushed his hands together, "is what happens when lumbering imbeciles do _not_ get in the way of my spells and start wrestling matches with werewolves."

"Yeah, whatever," Shar-Teel muttered. "Let's get out of here."

"Agreed."

And Ashura couldn't agree more. Lead-limbed, bone-weary, aching all over and sticky with blood, she stumbled out of the ship's maw and into the night, the soles of her stiff new boots crunching the dirt and the child clinging tight against her neck. The freshly created clothing kept the chill off, at least: a crisp white shirt under a padded velvet vest, tucked into supple trousers, all clean and fresh as something from a tailor's shop. Could always count on Edwin for two things: complaining, and showing off.

Once they entered the forest Edwin slipped a few steps behind her, hands hidden in his joined sleeves. The toddler —little golden-headed Peladan— had stopped screaming or making any sorts of sounds, out of breath, worn out and probably numb with shock. He just clung tight to Ashura, strong little arms clenching, and his legs locked to her as well, like a monkey.

It occurred to her then that she'd never once held a baby before, and really had no clue how you go about it. They're fragile, helpless little things, after all. Kind of intimidating. At least this fellow was close to two years old, and seemed durable. Maybe she was supposed to be rocking him? Patting his back? Cooing out some soothing words?

She had no idea.

Hells, and the Abyss and Gray Wastes on top of that: if she could think of anything to say, filthy and tired and worn down as she felt, it wouldn't be words suitable for a child. _I'd make a fantastic mom, wouldn't I?_

"There is a cabin," Edwin was saying. "With a secure cellar that we have been sheltering in. Though…considering your condition, the wolfsbane fields that protect it may be a hindrance."

"I was heading south," Ashura replied.

"The tribe has taken you in, haven't they?"

"Yeah."

"What will they think of us three, though?"

"Not sure." _Ugh._ That was a point. _‘They’ve been nice and welcoming. Well, except for the guy who tried to kill me. Also, turns out they were only friendly ‘cause they smelled that I was a werewolf.’_

Up ahead the brush was rattling. They'd find out soon, one way or another. "If they're hostile," Ashura shot over her shoulder. "Web 'em. We'll drop the kid and run."

"I am glad you have not gone completely native."

"You three are my tribe. First and foremost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the game Karoug is probably one of the toughest encounters there is, but somehow his pitifully anti-climactic death just sort of wrote itself here.
> 
> And I feel kind of bad for Maralee's kid, who got tossed around a bit like a football here. Hopefully he's a tough and resilient little fellow, and wasn't too traumatized. Eh, the poor thing does play the role of a football in the game, too, come to think of it. And Shar-Teel may have been bluffing about being willing to chop through a kid if it was used as a human shield. At least I hope she was bluffing.


	8. Leading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning that there's some brief sexual content in the middle of this chapter.

_"They told me he was bad_  
 _But I knew he was sad_  
 _That's why I fell for_  
 _The leader of the pack"_  
-The Shangri-Las, _Leader of the Pack_

**8 – Leading**

Once again Jorin led them along through the moon-dappled brush, though now he went in his human form; hunched, hobbled, nearly naked, and bleeding in half-a dozen places, guiding a different and diminished band. They threaded their way along the raised bank of a creek, the path treacherous in the dim light, and more than once Edwin stumbled and snapped out some Mulhorandi curse that made the rest of them cringe. Every time that happened Alora would try to calm and steady him.

The toddler clinging to Ashura's chest remained blessedly silent, at least, and Shar-Teel managed to creep along quietly beside her, despite her arms and armor. Between Jorin and Ashura's people walked Kaishas and Durlyle, occasionally glancing back at the three strangers, and from time to time they would hear grinding or crashing sounds further back in the forest: sounds made by one of Edwin’s summoned creatures. A little earlier the red wizard had hissed about how the thing could act as a decoy, if they were truly being tracked by the enemy.

Eventually, Jorin took a turn and guided them across the creek (Edwin's grumbles and Shar-Teel's sharp _'Shhh's_ drawing more uncomfortable looks from the three members of the clan), and then they wove their way downhill, over rotten leaf-beds and between the trunks of ancient tress. Eventually the forest thinned out into a long stretch of meadow, and after a glance behind them Kaishas judged it safe enough to speak, albeit in a low voice:

"Maralee will be greatly relieved."

"Yes," Durlyle whispered back. "She should be at the gate. My sister was dragging her along and commanding the forest to hold the beasts back, last I saw of them."

Ashura gave him a tight nod. She thought to say 'Glad they're okay,' but then again they wouldn't know for sure until they got back to the village. Had the clan lost people in the chaos back there, when she'd sprinted ahead, caught up in the moment?

( _Lost people. Caught up in the moment._ She remembered the pools of blood, and the open, empty eyes of the sailors…)

Up ahead, the carpet of grass and spring flowers perspired with dew: fat little beads glinting in the light of the full moon. Beyond that lay more forest, and the village wall wouldn't be too far past that. Slipping up closer to Durlyle, Ashura caught the young man's eye. "There's a cure for lycanthropy, right?" she asked.

He just cocked his head, looking confused.

"Uh. Guess you'd call it…the gift, or some such? The transforming. I read once that it can be cured with belladonna flowers, in some sort of potion."

He mulled that over for a moment. "The flowers that sooth the beast? Yes. Hm. In the past, great-grandmothers used draughts made from those flowers in rituals, to pull back some who the Others had taken and maddened. Perhaps that is like your…cure?"

She shrugged.

"You do not wish to…Belong?"

Ashura glanced at her friends. "Not sure if I can. And…the world we came from, where my friends want to return to…there are a lot of silver weapons and monster hunters over there."

"Ah. Yes. I have thought of this too. If my people are to sail to the world beyond, we will face great dangers. We will need to show caution, and to change. Not cure, but-"

"Ooo," a voice chirped up, somewhere beside and below them. "I might know about this cure thing!" Alora produced a weathered little book from the pocket of her vest. Looked like some sort of journal. "This was the old hermit's cook book." She thumbed through the pages. "Oh, guess you didn't meet him, huh Ash? I'll fill you in. _Ca-razy_ story. But anyways, he had this book of recipes, and…darn it, it's hard to read by the moonlight, but I think one of them was titled: _'Cure for Lycanthropy.'_ Or uh…something close to that."

"You stole the elf's cookbook?" Edwin muttered.

"There was this interesting recipe in here for mumbleberry pie."

"Of course there was."

Up ahead, beyond a thin smattering of trees, loomed the village walls.

 

* * *

It was already bright inside the hut the next morning, when Ashura came to. She rolled onto her back, stretched her arms out, and started when her elbow brushed something soft. Blinking back sleep, she turned to see hair dyed an unnatural shade of violet, covering a round, serene little face. Despite her small size, Alora had managed to stretch out over most of the futon, dressed in her chemise and drooling out the edge of her wide-open mouth. Looked essentially like a mini-Imoen.

_Heh._ How many mornings had she woken up like this? With Imoen hogging the covers if they had been forced to share a bed, or dominating the whole of the twin bed beside Ashura's, tough as a sleeping dragon to wake?

Ashura swung around to sit on the edge of the cot, rubbing her face. Hadn't slept that soundly in a good long while. Aches were coming back now though, along with memories. After as thorough a birdbath as she could manage with the washing pot, she donned one of Delainy's spare dresses and some foot wraps, along with her belt and swords, then went out onto the porch.

Edwin was there, seated on a stool and leaning forward with a steaming teacup in hand, a freshly brewed pot and more cups sitting on the table before him. Durlyle rested on the stool at the other side, a cup in front of him, along with the tattered journal that Alora had found. Beyond them Shar-Teel sat on the stoop, polishing her newfound sword.

"Tea?" Edwin offered.

"Sure." Forkroot and camellia leaf was his typical morning brew, though he usually drank it around dawn. Seemed he was getting a late start too, or he needed more tea than usual. "Didn't sleep well?" she asked as she poured herself a cup.

He scowled off. "A certain _someone_ demanded that I expend my _creation_ spell on clothing for her, rather than bedding for myself."

"Durlyle's side of the hut-"

"Hardly accommodating! (As if I would share a bed with another man?! And a tiny bedroll's space at that!) Regardless, I judged it imprudent to sleep among this pack of dogs. _Someone_ must remain wary, spells at the ready and eyes open, for when the inevitable betrayal comes."

There was a sort of puzzled incredulity on Durlyle's face as he watched the red wizard rave, as if the young shaman had come upon a new species of plant and was trying to determine if it was medicinal, edible, or poisonous.

"Glad you're here to do that, then," Ashura told Edwin.

"Bah!"

She reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Really. It was good to see that you didn't drown."

"As if the sea had any chance of taking me. Again: bah!"

"And thanks for holding onto this." She tapped Varscona's hilt.

"As I said, _someone_ must be responsible."

Down at the street level, near Shar-Teel, there seemed to be something out of place: a pile of stone and wood, or so it seemed at first glance. Craning her neck, Ashura realized that the pile was moving ever-so-slightly, dusty stones shifting as if they were living things. Looked like one of Edwin's squat little rock elementals, standing sentinel and holding up a big wooden crate on top of its flat head, supported by big knobby hands.

Edwin followed her gaze. "In addition to _thanking_ me for sacrificing a bed for your comfort (a kindness you are welcome to repay between the sheets of the next bed that I conjure), for storing your sword, _and_ for keeping a watchful eye while you and the other two imbeciles slept, you may also thank me for having the wherewithal to conjure something that could carry our salvage. That pile of slag over there is holding the fabled treasure of Balduran, portered all the way from that dilapidated ship."

Over on the stoop, Shar-Teel snorted. "Don't let the arrogant bastard take all the credit. Lora had already snatched all the nicest jewelry." She admired her strange new sword. "And I swiped the most valuable piece of all."

"Hrmph. (Though the big wench is probably right as far as appraisals go. The enchantments on the rest of the equipment besides the sword is abysmally primitive. Goes to show that ancient treasures are not always the greatest, especially when the ancients were backwoods savages)."

Poor Durlyle looked a bit lost and bewildered as he watched their exchange. Ashura stepped over to him. "So, Edwin and Shar-Teel've been entertaining you this morning? Charming company, right?"

He looked up, then down to the teacup in front of him. "This decoction he brewed…I like it. Invigorating, and an interesting taste."

"Yeah. Nothing like it after a long night with little sleep. They say some of the empires in the east were built on the stuff."

"Hm. The plants and herbs of the east. I look forward to learning them." He smiled up at her. "Speaking of which: I had thought to do some foraging this morning…"

"(Then just go do it)," Edwin muttered.

"…once you had awakened." He pushed the old book in Ashura's direction. "To gather belladonna, and whatever else is named in that…'recipe,' as the woman-child called it."

"Oh?" she said. "You'd help me, even if-"

"Of course. You have fought at our side, slain the enemy we could not, and even rescued little Peladan. My sister and I, we brew medicine. A simple enough gift."

"Where is Delainy anyway?"

  
"Tending to Maralee and the others. Maralee most of all. A badly wounded leg." He sipped the last of his tea, then stood. "Will you help gather, then? You remember where the flowers grow. And you know the words in this book, yes? I do not know how to…"

"(Illiterate savages)," Edwin grumbled.

"Alright then," Ashura said.

Durlyle had turned to the outdoor work table where Delainy often stripped and washed the herbs that she gathered. He lifted a pair of baskets, both made of bound bark.

"Unless Edwin wants to come along instead," Ashura added, "and demonstrate his superior word-reading skills."

"Certainly not," Edwin huffed. "My boots are finally clean, after last night's misadventures. And besides, I'd never dream of getting between you and your newfound puppy. (The last one was prettier, but I suppose a girl must make do. I wonder if this one plays the harp as well…)

"Thanks," Ashura muttered.

"Truly. Enjoy yourself."

"I will."

 

* * *

So off they went to gather flowers, up and over the jagged rocks, climbing and sweating beneath the glare of a midday sun. Was a relief when they finally topped the rise and a stiff sea breeze rolled in across the field, making the flowers dance.

Pausing, Durlyle took in the view, searching for the thickest patch of belladonna, then he took the last few steps onto the plateau and Ashura followed. The boy had shed his cloak, carrying it under his arm now, with the satchel hanging from his other shoulder, and as they neared the taller weeds he spread the cloak and tossed it out onto the grass. From his satchel he drew a small hook-blade: a gardening tool.

Ashura followed his cue, drawing a matching blade from her basket and walking through the field at his side. The smell of the tiny blue flowers hung heavy in the air, and once again she found herself nodding and breathing easy. Fat little bees zipped from plant to plant, ignoring the newcomers and enjoying their nectar.

"I do so love this place," Durlyle said, plucking the first stalk and slicing it a little ways down the stem. "Often, when I was a pup, I would come up here alone to look out to the sea. To imagine the lands beyond the horizon, and to get away from my sister and the rest. I love her dearly, but…the smallness of the place, you know? It suffocates." Bending, he cut the next plant.

"I had a similar place," Ashura replied, mimicking his motions and slicing a stalk free. "Where I grew up. We lived by the sea too. I'd go up on the battlements…" That word got her a blank look. "Uh. Big walls, I guess you'd say. Made from stone. I'd go up there to watch the sea and clouds. And to get away from my sister." She chuckled. "I love her, but…well, she's the sort who never stops talking. Sometimes you just need some quiet."

"So you were raised in a…fortress?"

"Yeah. A fortified monastery, where they kept mountains of books. It was kind of stifling. Far back as I can remember, I wanted to get out of the place and see the wider world, and I didn't understand why I couldn't. Did enjoy all the books, though. Every story you can imagine, from every corner of the Realms, right there at your fingertips."

Again, Durlyle looked puzzled.

"Guess books are a little confusing, yeah." She pulled out Alora's cookbook and turned it around in her hand. "Guess they're like…having a storyteller that can perform for you any time you like, once you know how to work them. They can't quite tell a tale like you can, though. With the gestures and the voices. We've got people like you on the mainland, telling and performing stories."

He laughed. "There is a new tale I must weave now, you know. The slaying of mighty Karoug and Daese."

"According to Shar-Teel it wasn't actually that dramatic, in the end. She blindsided Karogue, and Edwin managed to trap Daese with a spell. Webbed, chopped, dead, quick as you please."

"Such inconvenient details are no hindrance to a true storyteller."

Again, Ashura laughed. Was on the tip of her tongue to say: _'You remind me of someone I know,'_ but she bit back the words. Best not to mention former lovers when you're alone with…well, an _interesting_ young man.

So instead they talked about Shar-Teel's account of the raid on the _Wandering Eye,_ and Durlyle told her of the struggles they had once had with the other tribe: how dangerous and devious the wolfweres had been. Eventually things lulled into a silence, broken some minutes later by Durlyle. "That should be plenty, for the brew that the book calls for. We would not want to deplete the field."

"Alright."

"Brief as it's been, I did enjoy running at your side. I will miss that, should you choose this…cure."

"I'll still be able to run." She stepped over to him, closing the distance. "Just not as fast." She looked down at the satchel between her hands. "This gift…it's something amazing, but a bit overwhelming at the same time. I don't…" A shake of her head. Then, trying to change the subject, she plucked one of the stalks up out of the satchel, holding it out in the sunlight. The broad, curling petals were a vivid shade of blue, with the faintest hint of yellow-white towards the center. "Flowers. You know, where I come from people often give these to each other. It's a bit of a courtship ritual."

"Oh?"

"Usually not poisonous flowers, though. I think roses are the popular thing."

"My people's courtship is more…practical, I suppose. A gift of food. And there is our nature. So there is often a lot of…tussling."

She took another step, holding the plant out between them and nearly touching. "So I shouldn't give you this?"

He was maybe half-a-head taller than her. Grinning down, he seemed to catch on. "Oh, you are welcome to. I believe that I like these rituals of your land.” Reaching over, he accepted the gift and sniffed the little flowers. “You will have to show me more."

With another step she had a hand resting against his bare chest. The flowers shifted away, giving them space. "And what if I fancy a little tussling, too?" she asked.

His eyes widened. "You are bold."

"Guess I am." Her hands slipped up to the nape of his neck, drawing him down. He had such lovely lips: kissabley thick, and seeing no reason not to she closed her eyes and press those lips to hers, giving them a try.

It was a little awkward: seemed like kissing wasn't a thing for his people. Still, she persisted, and showed him what it meant: the slow and steady games played between lips. Around them all was silent save the rustle of the windblown grass and the distant crash of the waves. Time passed, lips explored, and, smile-against-smile, their tempo increased.

Seemed kissing was new to him, but the boy _did_ have a delightful way with touch, all gentle and graceful, tracing the contours of her shoulders and the back of her neck, and soon it became clear that he could also be bold. _Good._ Hands found their way under the straps of her dress. Fabric slid down. Chests and mouths and hips pressed close, and they turned together in the grass.

Eventually they found their way to the discarded cloak, breaking the kiss to spread it a bit, then sitting down. She closed her eyes once more, and again showed him how bold she could be, leaning in, one hand caressing his shoulder and the other finding its way beneath his loincloth. Sometime later she found the trick to untying it completely, and by then he had slipped her dress down fully. _Bold hands indeed._

Soon the fur cloak was rustling beneath her bare back, the tips of his thumbs swirling and flicking against her nipples and his lips finding new places to explore. Her fingers had long since taken up residence around his member by then, warm and firm in her hand. The air was heady with the flower's scent, and there were no beasts here in the field: they took things slow and gentle.

 

* * *

Hours later, as Ashura and Durlyle made their way towards the village gates, they were greeted by commotion. A bit of a crowd had gathered, huddling close and murmuring, and as he approached them Durlyle slowed, tilting his head back to sniff the air. Seemed to be some tension in it, along with the excitement.

"Something has happened?" Durlyle asked.

One man —named Tevel, as Ashura recalled— nodded emphatically. "Indeed! Just now. The Saleed came hobbling in from the forest!"

Durlyle tensed.

"Yes," another guard added. "Never did I think to see his face again."

"The Saleed," Durlyle said. "Where..?"

"He was gravely injured. Crawling in the field." The guardswoman gestured towards the interior of the village. "Lahl and Tailas took him in."

With an absent nod, Durlyle looked past the rows of growing plants just inside the village walls, and Ashura's eyes followed his. There seemed to be a little procession beyond, making their way down the open street. Durlyle began to walk in that direction, slow, and not particularly eager, and Ashura went along at his side.

Once they were well across the garden and out of earshot, she leaned close and whispered: "So who's returned, exactly? And from where?"

"Someone I had hoped to never see again," he replied. "Though I would be shamed if I admitted that in the village square. And from where? I've no idea. I had assumed that he was lost to the sea."

_'Lost to the sea.'_ For whatever reason, the hairs on the back of her neck rose at that.

Durlyle's steps grew swifter, marching on along the path. "We must see, I suppose." Ahead of them, people had come out of their huts to watch, and in the middle of the street Lahl and Tailas did indeed seem to be supporting a wounded man, the stranger limping between them and draped in Lahl's cloak. Three others had joined them, all crowding around and whispering.

They neared the shaman's hut now, Edwin's elemental still standing guard at the foot of the steps, and its big quartz eyes watched the clansman as they neared. Up above, Edwin leaned on the rails, watching as well, and the hobbled man and the others gave the strange creature and the mage a wide berth, shifting nearly to the other side of the street as they walked.

The stranger's head turned, and he glared up at Edwin. His face was dirty and scuffed, his long brown mane matted and torn, but Ashura recognized the sharp nose, bushy brows, and the deep lines on the man's tanned face. "Oh _shit_ ," she hissed to herself.

Another step, and then Mendas and his little entourage were past the steps, facing forward, with their backs to her and Durlyle. They scraped on down the path, and Ashura hasted the reach the hut where her friends were gathered.

Edwin spared her a glance. "My vigilance pays off," he stated. "I knew he would show up again."

"Shit," Ashura repeated, teeth clinched tight. The people had spoken of some sort of former leader, before Kaishas, and there had been something about him leaving the island. "When Mendas was talking about bringing the ship to his people-"

"He meant these, yes. The only 'people' on this island (or a close approximation of people, at least). It appears that he is their chieftain"

At his side stood Delainy, a hard look on her face as she watched the procession disappear around the bend, heading towards the village square. "The Saleed," she muttered.

"Hm?" Edwin turned to her. "He called himself Mendas, when we first…met."

"Saleed," Durlyle said, stepping up onto the porch and setting his satchel down. "A word of the great-grandmothers. The Father of our clan."

"Father," Delainy repeated, a hand clenched tight on the railing. "A father to many here, in truth. It is a role he _enjoyed_ more than it is meant." There was disgust and barely tamped down rage in her voice. Seemed there was a story there.

"Well," Shar-Teel groaned, "looks like things are about to get ugly."

"Yes," Edwin agreed. Switching to Chondathan, he turned to Ashura. "We'd best quit this place. You've lived among these people. Do they have some sort of seaworthy vessel we might procure?"

Delainy's eyes went wide and then narrowed to a glare, and Durlyle cocked his head, eyes on the Thayan as well.

"Edwin," Ashura said. "These two speak Chondathan. They're the village scholars."

"Oh."

She turned to the twins. "They're my friends too." To Edwin: "And you were expecting Mendas? Really?"

"I had hoped that the wolves might eat him, but yes. Tis the reason I've been keeping a steady vigil."

"Nice of you to tell me."

"Bah. You had flowers to gather (with that scantily clad young man, apparently). An action I encourage, by the by (the gathering, that is). Much as I appreciate your…lack of restraint in some matters, lycanthropy appears to exacerbate-"

"Yeah." She stepped up onto the porch, holding her satchel up. "A cure might be a good idea." After placing the flowers on the table, she turned to look towards the main square. Seemed like there was quite a commotion over there; people streaming out of their huts and such. "So…"

"The wizard's right," Shar-Teel said. "Should get out of here before that lot turns on us."

"Surely they won't," Durlyle disagreed. "You slew the beasts."

"We also fought this Saleed of yours. Twice. Cut him up good both times, too."

"Perhaps. But bad blood can be left to dry. And you have done more for us than The Saleed ever did. They will see that."

Shar-Teel shrugged. "I don't know your damned politics."

Thinking on it, Ashura wasn't sure either. There had been people who spoke of missing Saleed's ways, like the man who had challenged her. Lots of tension when he arrived, though, and the twins clearly hated him. "Well," she said, hopping down the flight of steps. "One way to find out. Might as well go talk to everywhere here and now, look Mendas in the eye, and see what comes." Gesturing, she turned to the street, and the others fell in behind her.

Shar-Teel walked with her sword against her shoulder, the silver edge ready, and Alora bobbing along beside Edwin. "So," the halfling whispered as they went. "I heard something about stealing a boat, but I missed the rest. Why can't 'cha guys just all speak proper common? Or could you at least cast one of them _tongues_ spells on me?"

" _Hrmph_ ," was Edwin's sole reply.

"You're a master wizard, right? So where's my _tongues_ spell?"

"It was not a spell I deigned worthy of preparing this morn.

Alora giggled, then Ashura heard a little hiss. Sounded like she had given Edwin a playful poke. "Immy was right. You really just can't admit when you can't do something, huh?"

A growl. "I…admit that there are limitations on the practice of the arcane, even among its masters. A careful choice of spells must always be made, and for your own good (much as you will never appreciate it) I _chose_ spells that would ensure our survival, rather than magic that would allow someone to understand the grunts of these savages. Much like how I choose _pragmatic_ spells over those that would shoot dazzling, sparkly lights before your eyes. I understand that you would prefer dancing sparks, but spells that keep you alive-"

"Aww! Edwin!" There was a smacking sound. "So happy to hear that you care!"

To Ashura's surprise Edwin didn't make any snarling noises this time. "Well, someone has to look out for your idiot self."

They passed on into the dirt-trod square. Looked like most of the village was there now, clustered in little packs and furiously whispering. Mendas had been maneuvered over to the steps of the main long house, dressed in a loincloth and cloak, and favoring one side. Someone had handed him a clay cup, and he was taking careful sips from it, Jorin and many others huddled in around him.

Kaishas had come out too, standing a few paces away with a blank look on her face. She didn't seem to notice or register Ashura and her companions as they approached, but Mendas certainly did, glaring over the rim of his cup. Seated there on the steps, broad-shouldered, craggy-faced, and looking out through sharp, appraising eyes, he certainly looked every bit the king holding court, wearing his injuries as others might wear the jewels of state.

"You people, then," he stated.

"Yes," Ashura replied. "Us."

Mendas looked over to Delainy, who was the last to enter the square. "Shamaness. I am in need of healing."

When Delainy replied her voice was cold as ice. "I have expended my healings already. On Maralee, Ashura, and Evalt. People worthy of my help."

"Hm. Your brother, then."

Durlyle shrugged. "Expended as well."

"You lie poorly, pup." Mendas took a deep breath and wobbled to his feet. "Need I cowl you once again? Give you some fresh scars?"

Tailas slipped in beside the big man, a stoppered gourd in hand. "Here, my Gan. A potion from the stores."

Snatching it, Mendas popped the cork with his thumb and drank deep. Once he had downed it all he shook his head and breathed in, stretching out the arm that had been hanging at his side. "There." He wriggled his fingers. There were little twitches on his face, and having downed her share of healing draughts Ashura recognized the look of someone experiencing the sharp little aches and itches of a body knitting itself back together. With a powerful enough potion it could be close to downright torture, but… _eh_ …better than having a gaping wound or a broken bone.

Whole and hearty now, Mendas straightened to his full height, testing his muscles and looking over to his people. "So. I hear that we now have a ship fully built, and sea charts as well. The time is coming to leave this island, no?"

"No thanks to you," Delainy snapped. "You have been-"

"I delivered the charts! Tailas told me where they came from. I had to take a bit of a dip and a detour to do it, but here we are. We need but sail."

"It is not that simple," Kaishas stated. Looked like she trying to keep a calm face, her posture as stiff and imperious as her husband's. "We must build more. The ship will not hold all. You were sent out to-"

"Then we shall take the strongest," Mendas cut her off. "Best that way, for settling the soft lands I have seen in my journeys. We need the strong to bite out a new home. Then we can come back for the rest."

Delainy spoke. "You strut, but you show no understanding of strength." She gestured in Ashura's direction. "We have struggled with the Others for _generations._ They were fiercer than us, and we survived because of the walls and clever thinking. But these outsiders broke them in mere days! The red one commands magic beyond anything our line of wise ones could perform. They carry silvered weapons that could easily cut through our hides. And this one," she pointed at Ashura, "carries the blood on an Outsider god!

"Think on this! In the great lands beyond, there are mages, bespelled weapons, walls built from stone, numbers like none we have seen, and gods that we do not know. It is not a soft land. We must stalk slowly, talking and learning from its people."

Mendas snorted, surveying the crowd. "And these outsiders represent this land, as you say? Then there can be no better test than seeing if we can cut a swath through them. Test who is strongest." He took a step forward.

Ashura's silver-edged sword hissed free, pointing at the chieftain. This time she'd make sure to pierce the heart.

"No!" Delainy hissed, interposing herself and holding out her hands. "These outsiders have aided us. Karoug and Daese are dead. Their pack is broken. Peladan is safe. Saleed, they saved your son!"

"Listen to her," Kaishas added, stepping forward. "All of you. Ashura has-"

"Kaishas!" Mendas hissed. "That woman you protect! She slew _our son!_ "

Her eyes went wide, and she whirled to face her husband. "She…Baresh? That is how Baresh..?"

Ashura recalled the 'scholar's' assistant. _That was their son? Great._ And this day had started out so well. She stepped forward, eyes fixed on Mendas. "You attacked us. Killed our captain. Wrecked our ship. It was your bloodlust and stupidity that started all of this."

There was a firm nod from Delainy. "Indeed. Baresh and his father dealt only with their teeth, and look where it has brought us? I say we follow these outsiders to their land. Let them show us their ways, so we might thrive there."

Many affirmatives rose up from the crowd, along with uneasy shifting. There was murmuring too, and that grew into shouts as some people circled in behind Delainy and the ones by Mendas tried to shout them down.

"The Saleed never did anything…"

"I smell treachery on that red one. At least I know that the Saleed will…"

"That girl is as feral as the Others! Whatever god put her here did it to…"

"If we do not follow our wise ones we are no better-"

"Wise ones? They are but children!"

"I will follow you, of course," Maralee said, softer than the shouting but close behind Ashura now, her son wrapped up in her arms. "With all that we owe you."

"Aye," Jorin agreed, also stepping close. "Young as she is, Delainy's as wise a woman as we've ever had." Lahl the gardener had joined them, along with about a dozen more. Others were shifting to Mendas' side, though, and the men had their hands on their cloaks, an obvious sign that they were ready to transform should the word go out.

Edwin stepped up beside Ashura. "We are leaving then?" he asked in a low voice. "With these… _ahem_ …friends and followers?"

"Seems so," she whispered back. "Do your thing."

He took a step forward. "It is so nice when a clear line is drawn in the sand," Edwin announced, mostly drowned out by the shouting of the two sides. "Or, as the saying goes in Draconic: _melephis atros embessar!_ "

His hands shot up as he intoned the words, and, sensing treachery (was easy to smell, wasn't it?) the line of people in front of him began to toss their cloaks or pull at the straps of their dresses. Before the fur and fangs could come out, however, the air before them rippled, and a great, curved mass of brown stone simply flashed into existence, dividing the square and enveloping the great long house.

Frustrated howls erupted from the other side of the wall as Edwin spun on his heel, facing Delainy. "You spoke of a ship, yes? Where is it?"

She stared, wide-eyed, at the conjured stone.

"It will hold them but briefly. I am _trying_ not to kill your kinsmen. But we need to escape. Now."

Delainy nodded. "I shall lead us there."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fret a bit that I may be overdoing it with how dickish Mendas is, but eh, he’s about that bad or worse in the game. Basically, in the Balduran’s Island questline, everything bad that happens to the tribe is Mendas or Tailas’ fault, because they are violent idiots.


	9. Choosing

_"…do not leave the path because of the bears, the wild boar, the starving wolves. Here, take your father's hunting knife; you know how to use it."_ -Angela Carter, _The Werewolf_

* * *

 It'd been wishful thinking, that they'd outrun Mendas and his angry pack. They were somewhere in the tunnels under the village, no clue how deep in or how far they had to go, when howls and yips started echoing off the walls. Not good.

And worse: Shar-Teel was already panting hard, her side burning and her knees starting to shake with each janky, sprinting step. Alora seemed to be faltering even more, well behind her and losing ground as they ran. No surprise really: the little hellion could zip and zag like nobody's business for a short stretch, but her legs were still tiny. Facts like that catch up with you eventually.

Hells, Shar-Teel's legs were more than twice as long, and facts were catching up with her too. Puffing and wheezing, she stumbled round the next bend in the tunnel. The howls were just getting louder, and there was no sign of daylight anywhere ahead. She'd never been one for long slogs, even before the incident out by Giant's Hill, with the punctured lung and the piss-poor job that old, drunk priest of Talos had done patching her up.

Now, long hard slogs just weren't an option. Hadn’t the breath for it. Had to act quick or die. _Heh._ Wasn't that always the way?

Stumbling to a halt, Shar-Teel grasped a knee and gulped down breath after breath. Soon as she had the strength to, she turned to face the back tunnel. "Lora!" she snapped. "Here! Get behind me!" The little lady scurried to obey.

"How far?" Ashura hissed, somewhere behind them and scrambling to a stop as well.

"We are hallway through the tunnels, perhaps," replied the wolf-boy with the pretty mouth; the one Ash obviously had a fancy for.

"Alright. You and your people run on. Ready the ship. We'll be there in a moment."

"That would not-" the wolf-boy began.

"We'll follow you! After we push them back. Go on. And keep your people together."

There was a pause, then some scuffling, then a lot of receding footsteps. Seemed the wolf-people were running off like they'd been told. Ash slipped in beside Shar-Teel, swords at the ready, just like always.

Shar-Teel shot her a crooked smile. "That was like something out of a storybook," she remarked. "'You and your people flee. We'll hold the monsters off!'"

Ash looked stony, just like always. "Better this way. We're about to kill a bunch of their kinsmen. Don't want them seeing that."

Shar-Teel snorted, Edwin laughed too, and a hint of a smile crept onto Ash's face. Looked like she was about to say something more: orders or tactics or assessments of magic or whatnot, but then the shaggy bodies came roaring around the corner and there was no more time for talk. The faint glow from one of Edwin's conjured lights had been illuminating their path, and now it shone off wolfish eyes and teeth. Edwin was chanting now, and a growing, hellish blaze added to the light.

No time for talk. Time for fire and blades.

* * *

A _fireball_ in the close quarters of the cave would be just the thing. Timing was key, of course, so he had waited until they appeared to begin the chant-

_Blast it!_ Too fast!

The beasts surged around the corner at a fierce gallop, swallowing the distance as he droned out the words of the spell. A tight mass of flame sizzled into existence and built at his fingertips, then shot down the tunnel with a flick of his hand, lighting up sharp ears and lupine eyes before zipping by. It burst into a great conflagration that backlit the four wolves and cast long shadows, but left the four creatures unsinged.

_Four creatures?_ If there had been more: say, all sixteen who had stood up with Mendas earlier, then the spell would have caught their back lines and not gone to waste.

Ashura had said that these caves were a honeycomb. The hunting pack must have divided and taken separate tunnels, which meant that they'd need to keep an eye on their flank. With a thought Edwin turned his rock elemental in that direction, ordering it to block and distract if something came swarming towards them on that front. Of course, most of his attention was focused ahead.

Ashura and Shar-Teel had both slipped aside from the charge and put their backs to opposite walls, their swords blurring in the light of the dying _fireball_. There was a sharp yelp that grated on the ear, and a clawed hand spun through the air, cleaved off by momentum and the chop of Shar-Teel's blade. The maimed werewolf staggered, then that motion turned into a mad pivot and lunge, teeth snapping and the remaining hand grasping for the big wench's shoulder.

On the other side of the tunnel two of the beasts had veered round to block Ashura from sight, pouncing at her as well, but Edwin had no time to deal with any of that: the fourth werewolf was on him. Fangs and claws and slather filled his vision. No time for planning; all he could do was react.

His hands shot forward and his thumbs pressed together as the beast's palms struck his shoulders, clawed finger trying to clench. ( _It is their typical tactic, nine times out of ten_ , some detached part of him noted. _Grab the shoulders with the forepaws while the teeth go for the throat. Effective, but predictable_ ).

The layers of shielding magic that Edwin had surrounded himself with moments ago blunted the impact and prevented any damage to his robe or his person. Blunted the momentum of the werewolf too, but force and inertia still carried Edwin backwards, forcing him to dance several steps to keep from toppling ( _How ungainly!_ ) All the while he maintained his gesture and hissed out his spell, and when it was complete the blast that leapt from his fingertips was almost blinding.

Edwin turned his head, shielded from heat and flame thanks to his ring, but not from the light and –worse still– the sudden stench of burning fur. Claws dropped away from his shoulders, the creature howling now and turning as flames spread across its coat. (It was an extremely basic fire spell —almost a cantrip— but bolstered by powerful metamagic. A good thing for throwing off annoyances in close quarters, Edwin had judged).

Despite the smell, he forced himself to advance, and when the werewolf turned to flee that only served to expose its back to the torrent of flames. The beast was completely on fire by the time it loped away, taking a few blind strides down the tunnel before it dropped, writhing on the floor by Shar-Teel's feet. A chop from the big wench's sword finished it off.

Near Shar-Teel lay the maimed werewolf that had attacked her a moment ago, now a maimed man, and clearly dead. Alora knelt by the ankles of the corpse, scrambling to retrieve a bolas rope that had tangled up the dead man's legs.

Shadows thrashed and tufts of fur flew, a bit farther up the tunnel. A werewolf stumbled back from there, fighting to keep its feet and losing; its coat matted and torn and a longsword's blade stuck through the meat of its side. The beast crumpled and sat down hard, coughing up pink foam and clutching at its wounds and the hilt of the sword that had impaled it. ( _Varscona_ , judging by the hilt's design).

Once again, Shar-Teel moved in for the killing blow. A diagonal slash dropped the werewolf completely.

Up ahead, two more beasts faced off, circling and swiping, and one of the creatures wore a ripped and belted dress. Twas easy enough to do the math and figure out where Ashura had gone. ( _Hm._ The one with the dress was sleek and quick, with a coat as dark as the nearby shadows. Distinctive eyes, too. When the next _incident_ like this occurred, he was fairly certain that he'd recognize Ashura's lupine form on sight).

Edwin raised a hand and took aim at the werewolf that was _not_ dressed. A bolt of acid to its back would suffice, he judged. The spellwords were on the tip of his tongue when Alora's rope flew by, steel weights making it spin and whistle through the air.

_Fine then._ Saved him the spell.

The bolas caught the back leg of the werewolf, weights clattering, and the creature staggered and bent to one side. A slight distraction, but that was all that the other werewolf (Ashura) needed. It pounced, feet leaving the ground and all four limbs striking its enemy at once, bringing it down to flop against the dirt: a blow that threw its head back and left its neck vulnerable. Jaws clamped down, arterial blood sprayed, and a throat was torn open, all in an instant.

Shar-Teel had stepped in closer, sword held high in case there was a third prone creature that needed finishing, but now she paused and inched back. The wolf in torn clothing glared up at her, its muzzle wet and wrinkling. Stained red teeth let go of the savaged neck. The teeth remained bared.

The cave fell silent, and the wolf and warrior shared a look. Shar-Teel began to shift some more —angling her body, raising her back foot— and then in a blur of black and red the werewolf launched itself forward, hind legs kicking the corpse aside like a discarded toy.

Claws streaked by, bits of scale armor clattered to the ground, Edwin cringed, and Shar-Teel fell back against the tunnel wall with a pained grunt. The black wolf followed, paws grasping, but Shar-Teel managed to slide and then leap aside, skidding in retreat along the wall. Striking the rocks claws-first, the beast rebounded and swung around to pursue.

( _Appears I will need to waste a spell after all_ ). Edwin raised a hand and began to chant.

"Bitch!" Shar-Teel hissed out, the word echoing off the walls as she took a swing, but the werewolf went low and the blade streaked over its head. It shot from a crouch to another springing motion, both clawed hands connecting with Shar-Teel's torso in a blow that knocked the big woman off her feet and flattened her across the cave floor.

The beast would have pounced and landed atop her a heartbeat later, if Edwin's spell had not flared up then, enveloping the wolf in ethereal strands that stretched and solidified, becoming sticky netting. Trying to leap, the werewolf lurched forward and then wobbled back instead. There was a moment of a confusion, and then it started to twist and thrash against the _web._

Marching up, Edwin glared directly into the creature's eyes, demanding its attention. "Enough of this!" he snapped, and in response the creature roared. Edwin's glare did not falter, and gradually the howl dimmed down to a low growl.

Eventually, Edwin glanced down to the werewolf’s belt and empty scabbards. "You have misplaced your weapons. And after all the effort I made to tote your longsword around." He shook his head, then huffed. "And may I remind you: were I not currently carrying your boots and gloves in my bag, they very well may have been lost too! Enchanted fabrics stretch for the wearer, but there are limits. And I've limits as well. I grow tired of _nannying_ you."

There was some clanking behind him, along with a groan, as Shar-Teel climbed to her feet. The low growl from the werewolf persisted.

Edwin waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. Grouse and snarl all you wish, but you _will_ desist from making messes that _I_ must clean up."

The growling didn't quite go away, but diminished as the creature's form shank down and smoothed out, the ripped dress loosening as legs shortened and shoulders narrowed. Human now, Ashura finally went silent, continuing to glare at him.

Edwin recognized the look on her face. Knew it well, in fact. He'd worn it many a time, when instructors or peers had berated him at the Academy, after...well, after _incidents_ that they had _used_ to cast him in a less than flattering light.

He broke eye contact and turned his head. "You are capable of some small discipline, then. Good." A flick of his wrist banished the webbing, and Ashura wobbled, then caught herself and straightened.

Not saying a word, she turned away, marching over to one of the dead creatures. It was the one who had ended up impaled on _Varscona_ , and in death it had taken the form of a man with graying hair. Bending, Ashura grasped the hilt of her sword, planted a foot on the corpse, and ripped the weapon free. Next, she turned and searched the dirt until she found her shorter blade.

" _Try_ not to lose those again," Edwin said.

"Yeah," Ashura agreed, holding up the shortsword and turning it around a few times before her eyes. The silvered edge gleamed in the magelight. "Especially this one." She looked over at Shar-Teel, and the blooded weapon that the big woman was cradling, then back to her own blade. "Silver for monsters." A quick, practiced motion sheathed the sword.

* * *

It seemed the bulk of the hunting pack had taken other tunnels, passing Ashura and the rest by. They caught a brief glimpse of the creatures when they stepped out into the light: a dozen shaggy forms loping along the beach, tails whipping past a bend of rock and then disappearing.

Ashura took to the sand and marched along at a steady pace, her companions falling in behind her: Edwin, then Alora, then Shar-Teel and the rock elemental at the rear. Shar-Teel had downed a potion and fastened impromptu bandages as they went, but she looked unsteady on her feet, her crippled hand pressed tight against her abdomen where the claws had raked.

Beyond the curve in the sandbar and the high rocks a wide cove opened up, the blue of the water a near match for that of the sky above. The sand here was pebbly, the midday sun giving it a pearly glint, and at the shore's edge bobbed a ship, moored and sheltered from the winds by a jagged bite of rock. Looked to be a single-masted knarr, supported by crude pontoons.

"All this fuss over that wreck?" Edwin hissed as they drew to a halt, keeping their distance from the back ranks of the pack. "Hardly seems seaworthy." Snob that he was, he had a bit of a point. The ship was large enough, sure, but it looked to have been built from mismatched parts, with no deck or cabins to speak of.

Up at the ship stood the twins and those who had followed them, a few on the deck, but most huddled with their backs to the hull. Delainy was out in front, her staff planted in the sand and her posture straight and firm as an oak. She and her followers remained in human form, even as the wolves closed in and formed a loose crescent. Words were being exchanged between the two sides, though they were lost to Ashura thanks to the wind and the crash of the waves.

Swords in hand, she took a cautious step closer, then glanced back at her companions. "Ess-Tee. Maybe you ought to-"

"Don't coddle me, little girl!" Shar-Teel forced herself to straighten and trudge on, the double-bladed sword resting against her shoulder plate.

_Alright then._

Mendas' pack had noticed them by now, some of the werewolves swinging around to bend and growl in their direction. Their leader was easy enough to spot: the biggest, broadest beast of all, and Ashura recognized Kaishas at his side by her gold-on-silver coat. Mendas strode forward, his voice booming over the surf. "Come to show us more trickery, then?"

Edwin's hand fell upon Ashura's shoulder, gently pushing as he stepped past. "(Allow me,)" he whispered, before facing the great wolf, chin held high. "No fault of mine that you are too weak to deal with my arcane power." Several more bold steps carried him closer to the pack, every creature hunched and ready to spring. He showed no fear.

_Damnit. Don't get yourself killed trying to impress everyone._

"You wished to test your 'strength' against the outside world, correct?" Edwin went on. "Yet you whine about 'trickery' when you are found lacking."

Mendas shifted his head slowly from side to side —a sign for his pack to hold back— then slunk forward. "Wizard," he growled. "I know well of your sort. The robes I wore when we met? Taken from a true scholar, of your Waterdeep city. I met him on your shores. He carried great wealth, and spoke of expeditions, so I took his wealth and his robe and his title. He surrounded himself with magical defenses, and I cracked them like an egg. He showed me his 'arcane power,' but it could not scratch my hide."

They had halted now, about eight paces apart. "Yes, yes," Edwin droned, dismissive. "You can shrug off spells and all of that. Yet I will prove the strongest. You are the…I believe the Chessentan term is the ' _alpha_ ' of your pack? The strutting leader of your tribe, your position earned by challenging the other males and all of that barbarity?"

The great wolf growled.

"I'll take that for a yes. In that case I…challenge your manliness or whatever the proper invocation is."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, the word 'challenge…' repeated again and again.

Closer by, Ashura heard a clunky, grinding sound, and she and Alora turned to watch Edwin's stubby elemental march past them, the treasure chest still balanced on its head and jangling with coin. The elemental tottered over towards its master, and as it neared him Edwin glanced back and spoke:

"Hm. Yes. Servant. You may set my baggage down." The elemental obeyed, gently depositing the chest in the sand.

"You will try to kill me with this walking rock, then?" the great wolf snarled. "You will hide behind it?"

Edwin shrugged, facing Mendas and taking another step forward. He then looked up to the sky and the circling gulls, drawing in a deep breath of sea air. "Perhaps my servant will kill you. Whatever the case, my-"

His words were drowned out by the full-throated roar of the great wolf, bent low and charging. The elemental was still a few paces back, standing still. Didn't look like hiding behind the stumpy thing would be an option.

Ashura sidestepped so that she'd have a better angle to sweep in with her swords, but Mendas struck _fast._ By the time she'd positioned herself and thought to charge, the distance between wolf and wizard had closed, arcane light flaring as the beast's paws gripped Edwin's shoulders and momentum carried them both along.

Edwin's protective spells lit up like an aurora, keeping the claws from digging in and the teeth from touching his neck, but he was still lifted off his feet and propelled backwards, flapping like a doll in the hands of the much larger creature. Still, he managed to keep his arms out, palms open and level with the ground as he was pushed along. His lips were moving too; casting a spell even as Mendas held on intent to squeeze the shielding 'till it popped, and even as Edwin's back and shoulders struck the rock elemental, the force of the blow pitching the creature backwards.

The ground beneath them flashed as all three tumbled, wet pebble-sand suddenly covered by a gleaming black coat. They crashed down on that surface together and slid, red wizard sandwiched between his servant and the roaring beast. On top of the pile, Mendas raised a clawed hand for a full-bodied, downward swipe, and then…

…then, with a waver and a rush of air, the pile of living rocks and the wizard atop it just winked out of existence. Mendas was left suspended, for an instant, then he dropped to ground, stirring up a tarry mess of sand as he struggled to get to his feet, roaring all the while. Forepaws and feet slipped in the morass, and it took him a moment to straighten up.

Once Mendas had managed to stand —an oil-slicked, furious mess— he turned around and around, fast as he dared in the slippery sand, eyes, ears, and flaring nostrils searching for his foe. There was no sign anywhere around.

* * *

He had always kept the spell of teleportation handy, yet unused. Might as well weaponize it.

The world went brown and blank for a moment, then it was all wide open blue, fringed by white brushstroke-clouds. It appeared that he was spinning, different shades of blue (sea and sky) turning by and switching places before his eyes. There was a roar in his ears too —the wind— but a quickly shouted incantation silenced it. " _Wyas echal uvult_." _Featherfall._

Edwin wriggled a bit, balancing and righting himself, and the sky and sea went back to their proper places. Quick as he could, he glanced over to find the rock elemental floating (quite against its nature) right in front of him, then he looked down to the surface of the island. _Yes._ All the right little dots were in place below, and a particular dot appeared to be directly beneath them. He'd calculated correctly.

Through the link between their minds he could feel sheer panic flowing from the elemental, its quartzstone eyes twitching and its whole body wobbling. Every stone ground together. _I really am rather cruel to my summoned minions, aren't I?_ Edwin pondered as he released the elemental from the spell that was keeping it aloft, and it returned to its natural state, plummeting like…well, like a rock. Then again, perhaps it would be pleased to be reunited with its proper element, albeit at terminal velocity.

That done, Edwin took a moment to smooth out his robes, as they'd gotten tangled in the fall. They billowed just a bit now, like the coniform segment of a seed riding the breeze. Next, he surveyed the wide open around him, up here a mountain's height above the island. A lovely view.

Down in the bay of jagged rocks, crisscrossed by sandbars, the water was a gem-worthy shade of blue, tapering to deeper hues out on the open sea. In the other direction the rocks climbed, then flattened out to green plateaus, overlooking the dense trees of the primordial forest (that he had recently spent _far_ too much time trudging through).

Ah. And there, directly below him, was the loveliest sight of all. The elemental had dropped _precisely_ on target.

* * *

Spinning —and warbling a bit on the unsteady surface— Mendas searched the beach and rocks for his missing foe. Seemed he was looking in the wrong direction, though. A shadow flashed across the nearby sand, and the great wolf glanced up to find the source, but he hadn't accounted for the angle of the sun —didn't realize that the object was directly above him.

A gray streak of rock crashed down, fast as a ballista bolt and directly on top of the great wolf's head, striking with a wet crunch and a violence that had Ashura leaping back and turning her head. Shards of blood-drenched stone rained down in every direction, and although she was a good fifteen paces back a few pebbles bounced in around her toes.

As the rocks started to settle —along with drifting tufts of fur— Ashura looked over to the pulped remains, then up to the sky above. _Yep._ There was a little red dot drifting down, no doubt infinitely pleased with himself.

Over on the other side of Mendas' shattered, rock-pierced body, Kaishas stood at the forefront of her pack. The headwoman had taken human form, for the moment, and even dressed in a meager loincloth she looked as poised and imperious as ever, untouched by the shock that was running through the rest of her followers. She looked across the mess to Ashura, eyes narrow and face blank. There were murmurs and hisses all up and down the beach, from both the hunting party and the ones at the ship.

"The outsiders divide us…"

"It was the Saleed…"

"A challenge was met-"

"That was no challenge! More trickery from the red one! We should tear him apart…"

"Kaishas! They killed your husband!"

"That woman! She killed your son!"

Kaishas Gan's eyes fell down to the rocks and blood, Mendas' limbs now discernably human, then her eyes flicked back up and met Ashura's once more. She took a step forward, her mouth tight. "You slew my Baresh? Yes?"

"He attacked first-"

"And you ended it?"

"Yes."

Edwin was taking his time drifting down. Kaishas glanced up at him briefly, then back to Ashura. "They dispute his as a true challenge." Another step forward. "But they will not dispute mine to you."

"Guess not." They shared a long look, across the sand and blood, then Ashura glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, Shar-Teel was leaning against a rock. Alora stood close by, little hands rubbing together and a nervous look on her face.

"Stay back," Ashura told them, then forward she went, _Varscona_ up in a high guard and the silver blade held low and behind, her eyes fixed on Kaishas. The longsword would need to be used defensively; the ice that wafted off the blade stung humans well enough, but the wolf would be immune.

Kaishas lowered her head a bit as she walked past the remains of her husband. Didn't seem to be much sign of hate or fury or mourning in her. There were still a good many paces of sand and pebble left between she and Ashura, and the clan gave them room, stepping back in a wide semi-circle.

The headwoman stopped, stance widening. Bracing. "Should you slay me," she said, voice flat, "lead well." She leaned forward, and then came the charge and the seamless ripple from flesh to fur; from human to sleek bulk; from fingertips to claws; from hard-set mouth to wide white jaws.

In a streak of silver and flying sand Kaishas closed the distance between them and Ashura found herself ducking and twisting past a slash of claws. They both turned, and _Vasrscona_ whipped by and cut at a swiping forearm. Blade parried against muscle, drawing a shallow cut.

Kaishas pressed, teeth snapping. Forced Ashura to bob, down and then side-to-side, reflex keeping the jaws from clamping against her shoulder or her face. Another claw-rake, and again _Varscona_ caught the arm and repelled.

Jaws whistled in from above Ashura's head, but that left an opening. She took it. Silver pierced through hide: stabbed deep and drew out a furious roar right above Ashura’s ear.

The injury didn't give Kaishas much pause, though. Claws sank into Ashura's shoulders and now she was flying backwards, the ground slipping from beneath her feet. Flying, then skidding on her ass and then her back too and then the back of her head furrowed the sand and then she was flipping, rolling, crashing — jolted against the ground, then finally still.

_Ow. Shit._ Her left hand was empty now. The silver blade was gone. She shot up to a sitting position, anticipating a pounce. They always follow through with a pounce.

But Kaishas hadn't. Instead, she gripped the hilt of the sword embedded in her belly, and with a snarl she ripped it free and tossed it over her shoulder like a discarded toothpick. She threw her head back and howled.

_'Try not to lose those again.'_

_Damnit!_ Ashura's other hand squeezed _Varscona's_ hilt —hard— as the world before her eyes went silver and black. Fresh rips opened in the fabric of her tattered dress. Shooting to her feet, she drew in a great breath with her nostrils, reared back, and gave a howl to match that of the other wolf.

The cry ended and she looked back down in time to see Kaishas charging. Again, and this time with far more spring in her legs, Ashura slipped aside, her claws clenched around the longsword's hilt. _Do not lose your weapon! Do not lose your weapon!_

Even easier to dodge now, and _Varscona_ was light as a feather in her hand. Ripples of fiery-gold danced on the edge of Ashura's vision as she slashed, drawing a great gash along Kaishas' shoulder as they passed. The other wolf tried to turn and push, but was knocked back, stumbling, by a backhanded stab. The sword had never swung so fast, whistling by in a blur of hoarfrost.

Too clumsy though. The next cut passed over Kaishas' ear, leaving an opening that was eagerly accepted. Ashura felt teeth pierce beneath her raised arm as the bulk of the great wolf struck, and they both crashed to the sand, kicking and thrashing. Jaws clamped and teeth dug in, at the meat between Ashura's armpit and chest, and Kaishas did everything she could to twist and worry the wound.

Ashura drove a clenched fist down against Kaishas' head. No good. Pain flared and blood soaked her coat.

_Do not lose your weapon!_

A flick of her wrist tossed _Varscona_ from one hand to the other, and then the bronze pommel of the hilt came cracking down between the great wolf's eyes. Ashura raised the sword and bashed down again. And again. And again.

Yelping, Kaishas let go and pulled back, trails of blood seeping from her forehead and down around her eyes. Ashura shifted and slipped the blade between them; no room to swing or stab, but its edge pushed the beast back further. They both shot to their feet and Kaishas danced away.

More room. Room to swing. _Varscona_ whistled down, but Kaishas caught it with both hands, clapping. Blood flowed from her palms, but the great wolf held on firm, red-smeared teeth bared and snarling all the while. She yanked then, and now they were both tugging back and forth, twisting their arms and struggling over the weapon like a choice bone.

Over in the sand, a bit past Kaishas' clawed feet, Ashura noticed a silver glint. Then one of those feet swiped in and managed to cut across Ashura's ankle, sending her into an off-balance wobble. _Varscona's_ hilt was ripped from her hands, the blade spinning high over the sand.

Kaishas lunged.

Ashura lunged too, diving. Claws raked her side and sand rushed up to meet her chin. Silver gleamed right before her eyes.

Her fingers snatched for the sword and glanced against its edge, stinging. Then that pain was eclipsed by something worse: a furious yank at her tail. Kaishas loomed above, the great mother of the wolves attempting to drag Ashura up and tear her open as a hunter might snatch and gut a hare.

Ashura clawed the sand. Her hand caught the sword’s hilt, then she rose, whirled, pulled up and pressing upwards all at once. Her shoulder collided with her foe, and Montaron's old assassin's blade stabbed between them, up through hide and flesh and rib, shoved to the hilt by momentum and divine power and bestial muscle.

The body of the great wolf clenched up, shuddering, claws finding Ashura's shoulders and digging in. Maybe Kaishas was about to bite down. Maybe she was already dying.

Either way, Ashura roared and ripped her sword down and out. The sudden, violent motion sent a shock through the great wolf's body, and then Ashura stabbed again, overhanded and clean through the chest.

Kaishas fell to her knees, and Ashura yanked the blade free once more, looking down into her foe's pained and weary eyes. Blood seeped from the both of them, staining the sand, and then…

* * *

The rest was a blur of silver, golden sparks, shadow, and a great deal of red.

Sometime later, panting and shuddering, Ashura came back to find herself seated on the beach, her lips sticky and warm; tongue heavy with a metallic tang. She was human now; weary, sore, and stinging from countless cuts.

All around her stood members of the tribe, some murmuring and others chanting something. Up the beach a few paces, face down in the sand and human now, lay the mangled mess that remained of Kaishas. White ribs glinted in the sunlight, stained pink here and there and crusted with black gore. The head was only partly attached, and the chest had been ripped open, innards out on the beach.

Ashura looked down, flexing her clawless, blood-drenched fingers. The people of the clan (at least the ones who crowded her now) seemed pleased, and perhaps she should have been as well. Instead, she just looked numbly at her hands, a bit annoyed that she had dropped her weapons once again.

* * *

Some hours later, on the swaying deck of the ship, Ashura found herself peering down at a waterskin cupped between her hands. The liquid inside sloshed.

She was dressed now in her old traveling shirt and trousers, sitting beneath the mast of the crudely built knarr as the sea winds tickled her face. There were aches and stings all over her body, but Durlyle’s magic had closed and knitted the worst of the wounds. Looking up from the waterskin, she watched with the others as the island receded behind them: a rise of jagged rocks, peaked here and there by the ancient trees of the forest, the whole of it ringed by golden sandbars.

The twins stood with them on the deck, but they were leaving the rest of the tribe behind. _'We have shown this day that we are not yet ready to roam the wider world,'_ Delainy had told her people, standing above them on the ship, and for the moment looking as calm and sure as Kaishas always had. _'My brother and I shall find a place for us out there, first. Then we shall return for you, with more ships. And a plan.'_

There had been no objections, even from those who had followed Mendas. Probably helped that Tailas and his mate had been killed in the tunnels. That, and apparently Ashura was now held in high esteem, after…what she had done to Kaishas. Lovely way to pass down leadership, that.

( _'Should you slay me, lead well.'_ )

_Yeah._ Ashura's swords rested secure in their scabbards now. Didn't fancy losing them again. Her eyes searched the deck, passing over Durlyle and Delainy, back by the rudder, then Edwin (and his summoned mephit that was buzzing about the rigging), Shar-Teel, and finally over to Alora at the prow of the ship. Ashura's people were all here and accounted for. _Best lead well._

The blood and the heart of a packleader. Durlyle had said there was great power in that, and according to the old recipe it was a key ingredient to one of the more powerful cures for lycanthropy. Mixed with the belladonna decoction that she now held in her hands, the blood (and…other things) in her belly would hopefully be enough. If she wanted to toss away the power that she had found on this island, that is…

"Before you drink that," Edwin said, interrupting her thoughts, "and begin to writhe about while frothing at the mouth and hallucinating, we may wish to decide on a course. I would, of course, suggest a south-easterly direction. We were heading to Athkatla before this irritating detour, correct?"

Ashura shot him a glare. "If it really is my choice, how about Waterdeep? Always wanted to see it. And I hear Athkatla gets too hot in the summer."

"Yes. Yes. You are the leader. You've made that quite clear. I shall simply advise (the best advice being that we should seize the power that sleeps beneath Athkatla! But do as you wish, foolish girl…)"

Looking again to the waterskin, Ashura made a decision. "Tell your mephit and the twins to point us southeast," she ordered. "We seem to have come across some treasure. What better place to spend it than The City of Coin?" And with that she raised the skin to her lips, threw her head back, and drank deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! This story is complete! Thank you for reading.


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